The Mentalist: She Wore a Red Ribbon
by Donnamour1969
Summary: Patrick Jane is an 1870's peddler searching for the outlaw, Red John, who murdered his wife and daughter.Revenge is the only thing he wants, until he meets feisty schoolmarm, Teresa Lisbon. Extreme AU. Give it a try!T/M No copyright infringement intended.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Surprise! Yes, I know. I said I was taking the summer off from "The Mentalist," but I literally thought of this story idea in the middle of the night, and it wouldn't let me sleep. I'm also so excited about this story that I'm doing another thing I've never done—write two multi-chapter fics at once (I'm still writing my "Moonlight" story, fyi).

So now, to this story. It will challenge your credulity, being set in 1870 California. Extreme AU stories don't seem to be as popular in this fandom, as say, in the "Buffy-verse," but when done right, I adore those stories that have Buffy and Spike in Victorian England, or in another dimension. If an author can keep the characters true, the stories fun and/or challenging, then they can be highly entertaining, and you suspend your disbelief because you love the characters no matter in what time or place you find them. That being said, I ask that you embark with me on this challenge I've set for myself with an open mind. I will try to make it amusing and romantic, and keep the basic motivations of the characters the same. You'll recognize situations and characters as I try to present them in (I hope) surprising ways.

If you are a Sacramento historian, (or a historian of any kind) please give me a little latitude as I sacrifice historic details for the sake of storytelling. This is meant to be an homage to old western movies (and a little bit of the musical, "The Music Man"), so many of the roles and situations are intentionally stereotypes of that genre. This is all for fun and my own personal experiment. Thanks for taking a chance and opening up to this first chapter. I hope you won't be disappointed.

**She Wore a Red Ribbon**

**Chapter 1**

_Sacramento, 1870_

Miss Teresa Lisbon departed the schoolhouse at four o'clock, having finished marking her students' mathematics tests, preparing her reading lesson for the next day, and erasing the blackboard. She was tired from being on her feet all day, and dealing with little Benjamin Jones was wearing on her nerves. She made a mental note to visit his parents tomorrow after school if his behavior didn't change. It was difficult enough for a such diminutive woman to maintain control of thirty students of varying age levels without having a distraction like eight-year-old Benjamin, pulling Lizzie's Thompson's hair, or shooting peas at her back when she was turned to the chalkboard. Sitting him in the corner, a spanking with the paddle, or making him beat the erasers only seemed to reward his bad behavior. She shook her head in frustration. Yes, a visit to Mr. and Mrs. Jones seemed the only recourse now.

Miss Lisbon put on her tasteful little bonnet and began her walk toward her family home, deep in thought about her next day's lessons. She heard the commotion even before she saw what was causing it. Cheers and laughter, applause, and generally excited buzzing emitted from many of her fellow citizens as they gathered round a covered horse cart. She shook her head in consternation as she got close enough to see what was emblazoned on the side of the cart: _Patrick Jane's World-Famous, Amazing Elixirs! _The permanent stage in the center of the town square, sometimes used for political speeches, summer plays or musicales, had been commandeered by the man she assumed was Patrick Jane himself. He wore a fine blue suit and vest, and a white linen dress shirt. Tied at the neck was a black ribbon knotted in a western bow. A gray cowboy hat lay on the podium beside him, so everyone could marvel at the wavy golden hair that seemed to glow about his head like an angel's halo.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen," he said in his best showman's voice. "Let me direct you to the most famous and effective of all my amazing elixirs. Behold, The Elixir of Love!" He held up a small bottle with a bright red label, decorated with gold pictures of hearts, cherubs and intertwined roses.

There was a gasp from the women, some of whom promptly began fanning their faces in shock, and a few amused chuckles from the men.

"What does it do?" asked a young woman, rather breathlessly.

Jane turned his brilliant smile upon the lady, who promptly began fanning herself even more desperately.

"_What does it do_? Why, ma'am, just a few precious drops from The Elixir of Love and you will have any man you desire practically eating out of your hands. He won't be able to stop himself from pursuing you until you agree to be his one and only love. I guarantee a marriage proposal within a year."

There were feminine titters of laughter. When the men began grumbling in protest, Jane turned his charm onto the men too. "Gentlemen, don't despair! It works on women too!" He waggled his eyebrows comically, grinning wickedly. The men nudged each other, some of the younger lads letting loose randy whistles and cat calls.

"For just twenty-five cents, this and any of my other elixirs can be yours, to change your life in a matter of days."

Despite his best efforts, no one seemed to be reaching for their purses. He was about to land them with his final pitch when he noticed a petite woman standing a little beyond the edge of the crowd, shaking her head in a distinctly disapproving way. _Aww…the local moralist_, Jane thought. _There's one in every town._

The best way to handle such crowd poisoning naysayers would be to work his charm on her, which was definitely more powerful than all of his elixirs combined. Jane had once heard a woman say that if he could only bottle his smile, he'd be rich as Croesus.

"Oh, Miss!" Jane called over the rumbling crowd. The woman seemed to jolt, looking around in disbelief at having the attention of the group as well as this peddler man directed upon her. "Yes, Miss—you in the lovely uh, brown dress. I can see by your demeanor that you have some doubts about my wares. Tell me, Miss, what can I do to convince you of my sincerity, of the effectiveness of my Amazing Elixirs?"

Miss Lisbon, while utterly scandalized at being called out in such a way, was nonetheless never one to whither from a difficult situation.

"Nothing, Mr. Jane, could convince me that you offer anything different from all the other snake oil salesmen who come through this town."

There was a roar of laughter from the men at her spirited reply, whispered unkindnesses from some of the women, who thought of Miss Teresa Lisbon as one of the worst shrews in the city, a hopeless spinster. Jane heard all of this, and wondered at his brief flash of anger at the pettiness toward this woman whom he didn't know from Eve. Even from across the crowd, he could sense there was something inherently special about her…

"Now, Miss-?"  
>"Lisbon," she supplied, lifting her stubborn little chin proudly. Jane grinned, enjoying their conversation already.<p>

"Miss Lisbon. What a lovely name, reminiscent of my travels in romantic Portugal." He held a hand dramatically to his heart. "Miss Lisbon, what if I were to offer you a free bottle of my Elixir of Love? Try it for five days, and if there isn't some improvement in your situation, _I _will pay _you_ for your trouble!"

A man to his right couldn't resist calling out: "Better give her the Elixir of _Youth_ first, Mr. Jane, or you'll be out the two bits for sure!"

The taunting laughter grated on him, but he persisted with his encouraging smile as she held her back stiffly, her head high.

"No thank you, Mr. Jane," she said sternly, and in an instant he knew she must be the local schoolmarm. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have no more time to waste on charlatans and swindlers. Good day, sir."

And with a flounce of her skirts, she moved on amidst several more disrespectful calls from the men, her softly bustled behind swaying enticingly. Jane picked up with his spiel, but kept one eye on Miss Lisbon until she crossed the busy street and went into an old, two-story house, shutting the door behind her.

Jane made five dollars in twenty minutes, so he chalked that up to a good day's work, loaded up his wagon and headed further down the main street of town. As he drove past Miss Lisbon's house, he noticed a small shingle on the porch, which read: _Lisbon Boarding House~Rooms to Let._

_Hmmmm…,_he thought, patting his coat pocket, _I've got money enough to stay in an actual bed for a few days._

To give Miss Lisbon time to settle down, he drove his pony on until he found a saloon called Kimball's. It was a typical western town watering hole, which was just fine with Jane. He nodded to the men playing cards at a few scattered tables, then bellied up to the bar to ask for a sarsaparilla. Jane wasn't a drinking man, and sarsaparilla could be downright refreshing on a warm spring afternoon. What was different about this saloon, however, was the unusual barkeep. He looked like one of those men he'd seen working the railroad, but not exactly.

"What can I get ya," the man asked, without the exotic accent he'd expected to hear.

Jane placed his order and the bartender filled a glass with the soda water drink. "Thank you," he said, setting down his coin and taking an appreciative sip.

"You're new around here," the man commented, noting the fine cut of Jane's coat, the expensive felt hat.

"Yeah, I'm just in from San Francisco, here on business."

"For how long?" Jane turned to see a tall, dark haired and mustached man in a white cowboy hat standing beside him, a prominent tin star attached proudly to the lapel of his tan frock coat.

"Oh, just a few days," Jane answered, a little amused when the deputy's hand dropped to rest casually on his holstered six-shooter. Jane recognized that this man prided himself on knowing everyone's business in _his_ town.

"Good," he grunted. "We don't take kindly to no riffraff hangin' around. You're name's Jane, right? Sounds like a girl's name to me," he chuckled, gesturing for the barkeep's attention.

"Yeah," Jane smiled good-naturedly, taking another drink. "I get that a lot."

"Pour me a shot a whiskey, will ya?" The barkeep complied in silence, setting out a shot glass and pouring the glass full. The deputy downed it and grinned, pointing a thumb Jane's way. "Hey, Cho. This guy's name is Jane."

"Sounds like a girl's name," repeated the barkeep dryly.

"That's what I said,"laughed the deputy again.

"My front name is Patrick," Jane said, by way of self-defense.

"They call you Pat for short? 'Cause that would've been right mean of your ma and pa, namin' you two girls' names like that."  
>"No, but most people just call me Jane. What're your names, boys?"<p>

"Well, I'm Deputy Wayne Rigsby, and this here's Kimball Cho. He hailed all the way from Korea, brought here when you were what—three?"

"Yeah," Cho answered, in that same unemotional way he had.

"He was orphaned then adopted by Christian missionaries, and brought here to be raised up away from them heathens in his old country."

Cho shot the deputy a slightly annoyed look, but otherwise didn't comment. Rigsby didn't seem like the kind of guy to watch what he said.

"What do your parents think of you, a Christian boy, tending bar like this," asked Jane curiously.

"They're dead," he replied simply.

Jane nodded. If it's one thing he understood, it was minding one's own business. Well, unless it concerned a fiery, sweet-figured school teacher. "Say, fellas, I'm needin' a place to stay for a few nights. I saw there's a boardin' house down the road a spell. That place any good?"

Rigsby and Cho exchanged amused looks. "Aw, the lovely Miss Lisbon,"Rigsby said sincerely. "I saw you callin' her out there in the middle of the square. I'd steer clear a her, Jane. She may look like a lady, but you heard her talk—she's got quite a mouth on her. Guess she needs to be tough though, dealin' with them rowdy school brats."

"You don't think she'd let me a room?"

"I don't know. She's got quite a temper, and you had her riled up like I haven't seen her in awhile. You could ask, I guess, but you might try Miss Lily's on the other end of town. Miss Lisbon don't cook, so you'd have to eat your meals at the diner next door. Miss Lily sure can fry up a chicken though, and boy, you should taste her rhubarb pie." The man closed his eyes in fond remembrance.

Jane finished his drink and smiled in farewell. "Thanks, boys. I think I'll go ahead and try Miss Lisbon's first. Maybe she's cooled down enough to accept my money now."

"Good luck with that," said Cho, a brief twinkle appearing in his dark eyes.

Rigsby's hand went again to his weapon. "You stay outta trouble, ya hear me Jane? And if Miss Lisbon says no, you move right along and don't bother the lady no more."

"Wouldn't dream of it," replied Jane. The man was definitely protective of the little lady, which only made Jane more curious as to why the young deputy would have such tender feelings toward a woman the ladies in town thought of as a shrew. He tipped his hat. "Gentlemen," he said by way of farewell, leaving through the swinging double doors of the saloon.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Meanwhile, the lady in question was just settling in for the evening, having removed her bonnet and prepared her afternoon tea. It was nothing fancy, just bread, cheese and tea, and she sat in her small parlor, enjoying the quiet after the long day with children. She looked around her house, at the simple settees, chairs and little tables arranged just as her mother had left them twenty years before. When she'd died of influenza, Teresa, her father, and three brothers hadn't had the heart to change anything, and even though the antimacassars were faded from wear, her mother had made them, so there they would stay until they fell apart from age. The same went for the curtains on the windows and the rug beneath her feet.

After her mother died, Teresa became the lady of the house, seeing to her younger brothers while her father slowly drank himself to death. He'd owned the local lumber mill, and the business had provided for their family very well before his wife died. When she was gone, he no longer seemed to care about anything but his next drink, and she watched the business go under and his partner eventually take over, buying James Lisbon's share and leaving the family living hand to mouth.

Teresa had always been good in school, had become an aide to the schoolmaster when she became a teenager. So, upon graduation, she took the teacher's examination, and returned to the school as an apprentice. Within a year, Master Minelli retired, and Teresa happily took over so her former teacher could take up fly fishing and marry his long-time love, Mae. She would miss the mentor who had become like a second father to her, but she needed a means of support for her growing brothers, who were attempting to eat them out of house and home.

Ten years later, two of her brothers had met and married lovely local girls, and were settling down with their own families, two of them re-entering their old family business back at the lumberyard. Tommy, the oldest, was away at school, preparing to become a doctor. With the empty rooms in the house now, Teresa saw no reason to waste them, so she came up with the idea to have a boarding house. Most weeks she had at least one boarder, so it was a great help to pay for Tommy's schooling and allow Teresa some company as well as financial security.

Tonight, however, she was alone again in the big empty house. She sighed into her mother's china teacup, and took a dainty bite of cheese. The last thing she was expecting was the knock on her door. The last _person_ she was expecting to darken it was Patrick Jane, peddler man.

"You!" she said, unable to hide her horror.

"Me," he replied disarmingly, removing his gray hat. "I take it by your warm welcome that you remember me," he said wryly.

Seeing the man from a distance, Teresa had known he was attractive. Up close, he was devastating, and she felt her heart speed up in a physical reaction so foreign, she felt a little faint. But she wasn't about to let this man, who'd humiliated her by subjecting her to the renewed ridicule of the townspeople, see how strongly he affected her. Then when he smiled at her, it transformed his face from handsome to utterly charming and beautiful. She'd thought of him earlier as an angel; up close, Patrick Jane was every bit of that in appearance, but the devil in his blue-green eyes was what made her heart pound.

"Mr. Jane, I told you already, I have no interest in purchasing your—your—_snake oils_, so if you'd be so kind as to remove your person from my property—"

"Miss Lisbon," he interrupted. "I do apologize for any embarrassment I might have caused in the square, but I'm not here to press you further into trying my elixirs, as beneficial to you as they may be. No, ma'am, I'm here to beg a room of you for the next night or two. Do you have one available?"

She stood before him in her doorway, speechless at his request. Jane could tell she was as struck by him as he was by her. He could see it in her contracting pupils, could nearly feel the sensual energy coming off of her in waves. She was standing so still, her mouth open slightly, charmingly disheveled by his unexpected question, that he felt compelled to fill the charged air with words.

"This is a boarding house, right?" he asked, a hint of irony in his tone. "I mean, I saw the shingle and all, but Deputy Rigsby said you might not want me here—" _Well, that woke her up. Nothing like the power of suggestion. _

Jane prided himself to be a student of human behavior, and he felt he was getting so good at understanding human reactions, that he could even manipulate people into doing his will. Miss Lisbon didn't disappoint.

"What? Deputy Rigsby? He had no right to speak for me. Why, the next time I see him…"She trailed off ominously, and Jane saw that now familiar lifting of her chin. At that moment, he feared what might happen to poor Deputy Rigsby when next he met the feisty Miss Lisbon.

"So, you don't have a room then?" he asked by way of clarification. She considered him a moment, then promptly made a decision.

"Yes, Mr. Jane, I do. It will be a dollar per night, in advance. I'm sorry I don't serve meals, or do laundry, but you may go to the Silver Dollar next door for some of the finest home cooking in the city, or to the laundress on the next block over. There are no other borders at this time, so you have the upstairs bath to yourself. And don't get any funny ideas about me, Mr. Jane. I have my daddy's gun, and he taught me how to use it."

Jane's lips quirked at the corners, but he didn't dare laugh in her face at the determined picture she made, her lovely green eyes flashing beneath the sable brown of her hair, pulled tightly back into a schoolmarm bun.  
>"I swear to treat you as respectfully as I would my own sister." As far as answers went, that was perfectly satisfactory; nevertheless, Teresa felt oddly disappointed that he would think of her as a <em>sister<em>.

"Very well, then, Mr. Jane. You may come in." She moved aside and allowed him to pass. Jane surveyed the old-fashioned yet neat as a pin front parlor, where she'd apparently been sitting and enjoying her afternoon repast. His mouth watered a little at the sight of the bread and cheese, and he was inordinately pleased that Miss Lisbon shared his love for tea. He stood waiting, hoping she would offer to share, even though she'd already claimed not to serve meals to her boarders.

"Would you like some tea, Mr. Jane?"

"Why, that would be lovely, Miss Lisbon. There is nothing more soothing of an afternoon than a perfectly steeped cup of tea."

"I completely agree, Mr. Jane. Just let me get you a cup, and you can try my special blend."

For the first time since their meeting in the town square, Jane saw Teresa Lisbon smile. It transformed her completely. Her dimples appeared, her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks became rosy with pleasure. He knew now why a man like Wayne Rigsby would want to ensure Miss Lisbon's happiness. Indeed, it made her…beautiful. It was Jane's turn to feel a jolt of surprise at his own reaction. He swallowed hard, and offered up a shaky grin in return. If he hadn't fully realized it before, Miss Lisbon was Trouble, with a capital _T. _In more ways than one.

A/N: So? Are you still with me? I must say the most difficult aspect of this was how to explain Cho. I hope I did it in an inoffensive way. You may be wondering where Grace is, or other characters from the show. Don't worry—they'll be up in the next chapter. I'd love to hear what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I was pleasantly surprised that so many of you decided to take a chance on this crazy idea I had. I promise to answer your reviews very soon—I was just so excited about this next chapter that I decided to go ahead and post. But I truly am grateful that you are enjoying this story so far. Some of you are concerned about keeping these characters _in character_—an understandable concern, considering the different time, realistic speech of the day, etc. I'm working hard to keep them on track. You guys are tough on that sort of thing, I know! I hope you continue to have fun and just suspend that disbelief, lol. And by all means, let me know how I'm doing!

**Chapter 2**

Jane and Miss Lisbon sat together and sipped their tea, talking of the weather and where Jane had been on his recent travels. It was small talk, and it gave little insight into what kind of people they really were. Mainly, it was a means for them to look at and admire one another, so much so, that by the time he reached the leaves at the bottom of his teacup, Jane was feeling unaccountably warm, and Miss Lisbon's cheeks were rosy as she snuck glances at him through demurely lowered lashes.

He excused himself as soon as was politely possible to retrieve his carpet bag from his wagon. Upon reentering her house, he proceeded to climb the stairs behind Miss Lisbon, (whose gently swaying hips he unashamedly admired) who showed him to his simply furnished room—a bed, a chair, a small wardrobe, a wash basin. But what was most exciting to Jane was when Miss Lisbon opened the bathroom door with a flourish.

"Oh my!" Jane exclaimed, in spite of himself. There before him was a very deep, claw-footed tub, with two spigots at one end, clearly marked _Hot _and _Cold. _What luxury!

Miss Lisbon was fairly beaming with pride. "My daddy built this house with the latest inventions of the day. At the time, only the finest hotels had tubs with indoor plumbing and hot water. You still won't find many private homes in Sacramento with a bathroom such as this. Please, make yourself at home, Mr. Jane."

"Why, Miss Lisbon, I believe I will. I can't tell you how long it's been since I—" he cleared his throat, remembering he was speaking of such intimate things with a lady. "I mean, thank you, ma'am. Much obliged."

She nodded toward the toweling and prepared to leave Jane to his own devices. Before she left, however, he couldn't resist teasing her a little; he found he already loved to see her embarrassed blushes.

"This tub looks big enough for two," he said, putting on his most innocent expression. He couldn't hide the wickedness in his eyes though, and he was rewarded with a flush of delicate pink before she turned hastily away without another word.

Downstairs, Teresa put her hands to her heated cheeks when she heard the water running above, shocked as she imagined Mr. Jane sitting in her tub upstairs, naked as the day he was born. She busied herself by cleaning the cups, saucers and teapot, trying in vain to rid the forbidden image from her mind. She picked up her sewing and tried again not to think of him until the splashing of the water made her sigh to herself in defeat. She might be a spinster, but she wasn't dead, and Mr. Jane was truly a handsome gentleman.

An hour later came the clomp of boots down her wooden stairs, and she turned to see Mr. Jane descending, shiny and bright as a new penny. He was dressed in a freshly brushed, black suit, a clean white shirt and black ribbon tied at his throat. He was freshly shaved, and his hair was still damp, curling softly back from his tanned face. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Jane held his gray hat in both hands, struck by the wide green eyes Miss Lisbon was directing at him, his mouth gone suddenly dry as he clearly read the appreciation there. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Miss Lisbon, if you'll excuse me, I need to see to the care of my pony, and rustle myself up some dinner. I'll be back directly."

It took her a moment to find her own voice. "Certainly, Mr. Jane. Good evening."

"Good evening, ma'am."

She watched him leave through her front door, closing it respectfully behind him. She nearly kicked herself for not offering him a share of her simple dinner—beef stew and fresh bread—but she was so taken aback by his appearance, the words had died on her lips. Besides, she never cooked for her boarders, and if word got out that she was cooking for Mr. Jane, well…there was already enough negative gossip about her in this town already. Teresa found herself sighing again, envious of the rest of the townsfolk who would be enjoying Mr. Jane's company this evening.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After boarding his pony and cart at McMullen's Stables and Blacksmith's, Jane enjoyed a beefsteak, fried potatoes and biscuits at Mabel's, then walked down the wooden boardwalk to revisit Kimball's Saloon. The establishment was much livelier in the evenings, the card tables and barstools full, an old-timer playing a jaunty tune on the clinking piano. Jane looked around and saw Deputy Rigsby speaking to a serving girl in a low-cut dress. It seemed he did much more socializing than law keeping, mused Jane.

Cho poured Jane a sarsaparilla without him even having to ask, and took his drink to the only empty seat at the beginning hand of a poker game.

"May I join you, gentlemen?" he asked politely.

"You're that elixir peddler ain't ya?" asked one rough looking cowman, bearded and on the burly side.

"Yes sir. Thanks to the fine patrons of Sacramento, I'm flush tonight and ready to bet."

The three other men at the table looked at each other like they'd struck gold, a slicked up dandy like Jane thinking he could win over their down and dirty style.

"Sit a spell then, and ante up,"said the man Jane was to learn was called Bosco.

Jane passed a fine hour, winning some, losing some, cheating often to get the result he wanted. He had the exceptional ability to count the cards, to slip the occasional Ace up his sleeve, but he knew if he were to win everytime, he'd soon be found out and run out of town, or worse. But this wasn't just amusement or profit to Jane; this was serious business.

"Say," Jane ventured, after purposefully losing the last hand. "Any of you fellas heard tell of an outlaw, goes by the name of Red John?"

"Yeah," Bosco said, counting the stack of coins in front of him. "As a matter of fact, heard he and his gang robbed the Central Pacific headin' to Vallejo last week. What's it to ya?"

Jane felt his heartbeat accelerate. He'd heard the same thing too, and it was all he could do not to grab the man and beg him to tell him every detail he knew. Instead, he stayed calm, shrugging casually. The men around him seemed interested in the topic, but not overly so. This told Jane he was in no danger by continuing the conversation.

"May I?" he said, reaching inside his coat. He'd learned long ago to ask permission of such men, lest they think he was drawing out a weapon. At their nods, Jane pulled out and unfolded an old, wrinkled copy of a wanted poster, the hand-drawn picture depicting a man with hair to his shoulders, a bandana tied around his neck as if he'd just slid it off his face after a robbery. The picture was black and white, but Jane knew he was called Red John because that hair of his was redder than hellfire. He slid the paper across the table to Bosco, taking a deep breath. "This man killed my wife and daughter" he said. "If I ever find him, I aim to kill him back."

Bosco looked up from the poster, his eyes narrowing. "You a lawman, stranger?"

"No. Just trying to find some personal justice."

The men around the table laughed. "Well, you'd better find yourself a good rifle first, 'cause he's bested better men than you for just lookin' at him crosswise. What you need is a posse."

Jane considered the man a moment. "You volunteering?"

The men laughed again. "Hell, no," replied Bosco. "I got a wife and children of my own to take care of, back in Vacaville. Me and the boys here just run our cattle in to market, and we're flush like you. That's too much to lose for the sake of someone else's revenge."

"You're all family men then," said Jane, meeting the eyes of the other gamblers. "You can understand my reasons I'm sure."

Bosco nodded slowly, seeing the fire of vengeance in the peddler's eyes, and if he were to admit it to himself, the man's intensity scared him a little. He knew instinctively that if Jane had a chance at Red John, he wouldn't back down.

"Let me give you some advice, peddler man," said Bosco, leaning forward across the table. "Red John's the devil. He's cruel and he's evil like the devil, and he doesn't give a rat's ass about your thirst for revenge. He'll shoot ya soon as look at ya, so you'd best get out of his way and leave the vengeance to the Almighty or Judge McBride, whoever gets to him first."

Jane realized he'd get no more help from these men, so he thanked Bosco kindly for the advice, collected his poster and his meager winnings, and went back to the bar. Cho refilled his glass, and Jane realized he'd had an audience while he'd been talking to his new acquaintances.

"Too bad about your family," said Cho.

Jane tipped his hat back on his head and sipped his soda.

"Thanks."

"You been following Red John a long time, haven't ya." He said. It was a statement rather than a question.

Jane sighed, blinking against the unmanly desire to ball his eyes out at the perceptiveness of Cho's simple words. It was more than politeness; he could tell he genuinely understood his frustration, maybe even sympathized.

"Yeah," replied Jane when he could. "Nearly two years."

"A long time," Cho repeated, polishing shot glasses with a soft cloth.

The two men's moment of commiseration was interrupted by the sudden wild calls and whistles from the men in the establishment. Even the piano music stopped, and Jane looked up to see what the commotion was about. He found himself grinning along with the others as a beautiful woman in red satin emerged from a room at the top of the stairs. Her skin was the color of coffee with cream, her eyes dark and tilted like a doe's, her full lips painted a deep crimson. She took full advantage of the men's attention to descend the stairs like a queen. _Well_, amended Jane to himself, _a scantily clad, full-bosomed queen who undulated her hips like the waves in the ocean._

Behind this queen came the rest of her train, similarly attired ladies in what seemed to Jane all the colors of the finest jewels. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they dispersed among the patrons, cozying up to a few lucky gents, accepting drinks of whiskey and sitting in the laps of those with the highest stacks of coins. Deputy Rigsby joined Jane at the bar, a wide grin beneath his mustache.

"Gimme a whiskey, Cho," he said. "My, but Miss Madeleine is in rare form tonight!"

"She seems very popular," Jane commented dryly, noting how she worked the room in a way that made a showman like himself envious.

"She may be popular, but she herself is very picky. She has what she calls 'champagne tastes.'"

"Aww," said Jane noncommittally, but he knew at once Rigsby had never had the pleasure of Miss Madeleine's particular attentions. And so it was that both men were surprised when the lady in question made her way over to the bar. Cho had a glass of red wine ready, which she took up daintily with her red-tipped fingers.

She boldly looked Jane up and down, from head to toe, obviously liking what she saw.

"Well you're new in town," she said in a husky voice that went down like smooth whiskey. "What's your name, handsome?"

Jane turned on his brightest smile. "Patrick Jane, ma'am. How do you do?" He lifted up her empty hand and gave a courtly bow over it, barely pressing his lips to her soft knuckles. She smelled like a basket of red roses.

"Looky here, Cho. We got ourselves a real gentleman."

Cho looked on in amused silence.

"And good evening to you too, Deputy," she said, mindful of her manners. Rigsby hemmed and hawed, and Miss Madeleine quickly lost interest in light of the new blood before her. "Mr. Jane, what say you join me upstairs for a fine libation? Mr. Cho allows me to keep the best stuff in my chambers—for safe-keeping, you understand."

Jane's grin did not wane. "Why thank you ma'am. That's the kindest offer I've had in sometime. Unfortunately, my wife would not approve of my spending time in the company of such a lovely lady as yourself. She's very jealous, you see."

Cho gave away nothing that would reveal Jane's bald-faced lie. He figured Jane had his reasons.

Madeleine seemed genuinely disappointed. "That's too bad. You tell your wife that if I were her, I wouldn't let you out of the house—or my bed—if a gentleman like you belonged to me."

"I'll do that," he said in amusement.

She looked at him again, at the sparkle in his eye and the beauty of his smile. "Mmmm-hmmm. Too bad indeed."

And she wandered off to look for her consolation prize.

"I can't believe you just turned her down," said Rigsby in awe, his eyes following the charismatic madam as she made another circuit around the smoky room.

"I much prefer green eyes," Jane said, thinking of the petite schoolteacher sitting alone in her parlor. Rigsby looked at Jane suspiciously, but the peddler was finishing up his drink, surprised himself that those words had come out of his mouth…His wife had had _blue_ eyes.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Around nine o'clock, Jane wandered back to Miss Lisbon's house. He was about to knock on the door, when he noticed someone was occupying the porch swing, making it move slowly back and forth in the dark.

"Miss Lisbon?" he inquired, moving into the dim light that came from the front window.

"Yes, Mr. Jane. I can tell you've spent your evening in a gambling hall. You smell of smoke and rosewater. I won't abide drinking and whoring from my boarders," she said sternly.

Jane tried in vain to make out her expression in the dark, but her voice held the unmistakable tone of scathing disapproval, and something more, perhaps. Pain?

"Well, Miss Lisbon, having participated in neither of those activities, I trust I may remain your guest here?"

She sat in silence, wondering of course if she could believe him.

"It's true, I've been at Kimball's, seeking friendly male companionship. But I am not a drinking man—it befuddles the mind. And as for ladies of the night? I am more inclined to women of a more…_genteel _nature."

She was quiet a moment, absorbing his words. Jane leaned against the porch railing, waiting for her to speak again. He was about to say her name when she finally spoke.

"Do you have a wife, Mr. Jane?"

Three times in one night speaking of his dead wife. It was starting to wear on him emotionally.

"Not anymore," he replied, belatedly removing his hat and running his hand through his matted hair. Before she could ask him a related question, he turned her own words back upon her.

"Do you have a husband, Miss Lisbon?"

"No, Mr. Jane. I am what impolite society might call a _spinster_." Of course, he already knew that. He was testing her, seeing how she handled her spinsterhood status. Her words were spoken with irony, but underlying her tone was a note of wistfulness. She was lonely.

"Why?"

"Why does society-?"

"No, why are you a spinster?"

"It is the life I have chosen. I took care of my brothers until they moved out of the house and married. I had to take find work, so I became a teacher. These things took precedence over marriage, Mr. Jane."

"Sisters and teachers get married every day, Miss Lisbon," he said wryly.

"So do widowers and peddlers, Mr. Jane."

He grinned. "How do you know I'm a widower? How do you know my wife didn't leave me? Or I, her?"

She regarded him in the shadows—he could feel her eyes upon him, as she thoughtfully considered her reply. He found he liked that about her; she considered things. "You still have a married look about you. You must have loved her very much, and she you, I suspect."

This was getting very personal very quickly, but Jane was intrigued by her, amazed that she made him want to share things with her that he hadn't with anyone, ever.

"I did. But she was murdered when she wouldn't give a train robber her wedding ring. He shot her, then my daughter, cut off the finger that held the ring, and left them both to bleed to death on the floor. I wasn't with them. I had to take a later train." He had to bite back a sob as he spoke the last sentence.

He hadn't meant to tell her the horrible details, but here, in the darkness of Teresa Lisbon's front porch, he felt compelled to explain himself, to explain his life to her so that she might understand, but for the life of him, he didn't know why. He did know she wouldn't offer him pity, because she didn't pity her own situation. So, except for her soft gasp, she showed no other reaction.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jane. I can't even imagine…"

"I wish that I couldn't, because the thought of it swirls in my mind every second of every day." His words hung in the silence, and she let them, somehow feeling his need to collect himself. But she was curious to know how the story ended, how a man who had gone through so much could continue to go on living.

"Did they catch him? The train robber?"

"No. They call him Red John, and I've been trying to find him to—" And then she knew. Revenge was what gave Patrick Jane his reason for living.

"'Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord,'" she paraphrased quietly. Of course he'd noticed the crucifix she wore suspended from a chain around her neck.

"You're a Catholic, Miss Lisbon?"

He saw her hand go instinctively to the golden cross above her breasts.

"Yes. My mother was Irish. She taught her religion to me. That's all I have left of her."

"So you believe God will forgive all of us sinners, for whatever we do wrong?"

"Yes, Mr. Jane."

"Then after I kill Red John with my bare hands, I'll consider asking Him for forgiveness."

She didn't feel the need to correct him, or convert him. "You think killing him will bring you peace?"

"Yes, Miss Lisbon, I do."

"Then that is between you and God."

She stood up from the swing to walk past him and into the house, but impulsively, he caught her arm. Though it was warm and slightly callused, Teresa felt a chill go through her, and she looked up into his face, could see the glitter of his eyes in the lamplight.

"You're a good woman, Miss Lisbon, no matter what _impolite society_ says."

They held each other's gaze for a moment, and Teresa felt as if she were on a precipice, about to step off into nothingness. It was an incredibly frightening moment, and she found herself stepping gratefully back from the edge. She looked down meaningfully at the place where his hand encircled her much more delicate arm.

"I told you, Mr. Jane, I've no patience for whatever it is you're selling. I'm totally immune. Good night, Mr. Jane. Lock the door behind you."

He chuckled, but reluctantly released her, letting her run away, at least for now.

"Good night, Miss Lisbon," he called after her. "Sweet dreams."

But his smile faded when she disappeared from sight, and he took her place on the porch swing, feeling the lingering warmth where her body had rested. It was a long time before he climbed Teresa Lisbon's stairs up to his waiting bed, and a long time after that before he finally fell asleep.

A/N: I was hoping I'd get to Grace's role, but this chapter was running too long after I accomplished the main things I set out to. She'll be in the next chapter, I promise! Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for those great reviews and words of support! This is another chapter of exposition. When I've written for these characters in current day, all of us fans know the setting and their roles, but here in the 1870's, I've got a lot of explaining to do, lol. Hope it isn't too boring, but I needed to describe it myself to understand this new world I've placed them in. So here is the next segment, a little more Jisbon, and now some Rigspelt too, for your enjoyment.

**Chapter 3**

Jane woke to the smell of bacon, eggs and biscuits. He turned his face into his pillow, moaning softly in anguish. _Is the woman trying to torture me? Making me smell this heavenly aroma and not allowing me to partake? She is tempting me…Eve with a frying pan. _He smiled to himself at his silly musings.

Jane sat up in his rented bed, thinking that maybe he could at least beg a cup of tea, given that she'd willingly shared with him the day before. Despite his exhaustion, he felt a renewed sense of purpose, so he got out of bed, washed up at the washbasin, and slipped on his clothes from the previous evening. (He made a note to himself to inquire about the exact location of the nearest laundry. ) A quick brush of his hair, and he bounded down the stairs, ignoring the way energy hummed through him at the thought of seeing Miss Lisbon again. For the first time in two years, she, and not his wife and daughter, had been the reason he couldn't sleep. Jane didn't know quite what to make of that.

"Good morning, Miss Lisbon," he said brightly as he walked into her kitchen.

"Mr. Jane," she nodded coolly, but he believed her face was red for more reasons that the heat of the stove. "Did you sleep well?"

"No," he replied truthfully. "But then I never do. Nothing against your wonderfully comfortable bed, of course."

Jane's eyes were drawn to the kitchen table, where he saw that there were two place settings there.

"Expecting company?" he asked, with a lift of a teasing eyebrow. Her back had been turned as she worked at the cook stove, and he saw it tense at his question.

"I, uh, made too much this morning. It would be a shame for it to go to waste."

She turned around, frying pan in hand, and walked over to the table to fill each plate with two eggs and two thick slices of bacon. Jane wondered how one could accidentally crack two extra eggs, and he grinned as she set a full pan of biscuits on the table, alongside a crock of better, fresh honey and two kinds of jam.

"Why, Miss Lisbon, are you changing your rules for me? What would the neighbors say?"

He watched her chin go up as she filled his waiting cup with tea, and his grin widened. She sat beside him, having had ample time to come up with a good reply.

"They already think the worst of me, so this should make no noticeable difference, I suspect." She reached for a hot biscuit.

Jane put his napkin in his lap and paused, his fork filled with egg. He looked at her seriously. "Why would anyone think ill of you, Miss Lisbon? You seem perfectly respectable to me."

She buttered one half of the biscuit methodically, searching again for her words. "It's because of the scandal involving Mr. Bosco. He's a local cowman who moves cattle between here and Vacaville every month. He and his partners used to board here with me, and he made certain…_advances_ toward me once. One of the neighbors saw him through the window in passing, and word spread like wildfire. It might not have been so bad, except I'm the local school teacher, and he's a married man…Eat your egg before it gets cold, Mr. Jane."

Her words had been unemotional, as if she'd been describing what had happened to somebody else. She put a spoonful of apricot jam on her biscuit and took a satisfied bite. Jane stared at her in silence another few seconds, then brought the bite of egg finally to his mouth.

"Of course," she surprised him by continuing, "Mrs. Rose didn't wait around to see me slap his face and order him out of my house at gunpoint. When the school board met in an emergency session, they agreed, after much discussion and debate, that I could keep my job, barring any other indiscretions of a personal nature."

Jane processed this information, surprised that she would share such a thing with him. A woman would normally never discuss such negative allegations against her character. Perhaps their honest conversation on the porch the previous night had made her comfortable enough to disclose this. Once again he felt a sense of outrage for her unfair treatment, but a strange sense of pride that she had stood up for herself.

"And yet you continue to house gentlemen boarders. Very risky behavior, Miss Lisbon," he said, over a mouth full of biscuit.

"I've done nothing wrong. I am a good teacher, but I make more money from taking boarders. The reality is, most of those needing a boarding house are men alone here on business. Men such as yourself, Mr. Jane," she said meaningfully.

"Aww. You know, I think I met this Bosco at Kimball's last night. He seemed to be a good enough fella, though a might rough around the edges."

"He _was_ kind to me. And I was kind to him. But he's a married man, and I've met his exceptional wife. It was shameful that he even thought of taking liberties with another woman."

"I agree, of course. When I was married, I never looked at another woman. But don't be too hard on Bosco. Any man would be tempted by a lady lovely as you are, Miss Lisbon."

She didn't quite know what to say to that, but she managed a soft "Thank you."

They ate in silence a few more minutes, and Jane surreptitiously took the time to study his landlady today. Her hair was different—still in the serviceable bun, but little ringlets at her temple and ears softened her features and drew attention to her eyes. Her dress was more feminine too. Instead of the drab brown of yesterday, today's dress was a more flattering calico pattern of green and blue, gently fitted and bustled as before. He couldn't help but wonder if this—breakfast, her hair, the dress—was all for his benefit.

When Teresa's eyes met Jane's over her teacup, she felt the warmth of his regard like a caress, and she swallowed her tea, her throat working nervously.

"Are you off to school this morning, Miss Lisbon?" he asked, to fill the silence.

"Yes, and I must be going very soon. May I ask your plans, Mr. Jane? Do you intend to stay another night?" She tried not to sound too pathetically hopeful.

"I believe I will stay, if that is no trouble. Today I must try to sell a few more bottles of elixir, but I must also pay a visit to the Sheriff to see what news he has of Red John's current whereabouts. Maybe he's received a wire to be on the lookout. I have a feeling in my gut that he's headin' to Sacramento soon."

She frowned at the mention of the outlaw, but he could tell her real concern was with his continued desire for revenge.

"No trouble at all with your staying on here," she said. "Maybe the Sheriff will catch Red John himself and he'll get the fair trial he deserves," she commented tightly.

"Not if I don't get there first, Miss Lisbon."

They were at an impasse—again. Her lips tightened, but she said no more on the subject, choosing instead to pick up her half-empty plate and take it to the sink.

"Please, Mr. Jane, just leave your dishes. I'll get to them after school. Lock up behind you when you leave. The key is under the flower pot beside the door should you need to return before I do."

He hated that she was angry with him, but she couldn't possibly understand what it meant to lose someone you loved so violently, so senselessly.

"Miss Lisbon," he said softly. "I've upset you again."

"Of course not, Mr. Jane. We just have differing opinions. We are certainly free to each have our own thoughts on the matter. It just would be a shame were you to…lose your life in your quest for retribution."

Jane smiled gently at her. "I'm flattered that you are so concerned with my well-being."

He'd made her blush again. "I'm concerned about all of God's children, Mr. Jane. Now, I really must be going," she finished, wiping her hands on a cloth, suddenly anxious to escape the tension-laden room. She went to retrieve her bonnet and shawl from a hook beside the door, donning them in efficient movements, avoiding Jane's weighted gaze as best she could. But still she felt his soulful eyes upon her, following her every move, making her feel clumsy and self-conscious. When her hand became entangled in the wide knitting of her shawl, he was suddenly there beside her, slowing her hasty, frustrated movements that were just making her hand all the more twisted in the soft yarn.

She stopped, her breath coming fast as he gently untangled and freed her hand. He continued to hold onto it until she calmed herself and managed to meet his eyes. There was knowing laughter sparkling within the blue-green depths, along with something more that she was afraid to even begin to define.

"Slow down," he whispered, his face so close she could see the individual laugh lines around his eyes. "School can't start without the teacher." And then he brought her hand to his mouth, turning it over to press his warm lips against her damp palm. His long lashes swept down to rest upon his tanned cheeks and Teresa held her breath, paralyzed with anticipation. He raised his head after a few glorious seconds, then lowered her hand and readjusted her shawl about her shoulders, his hands lingering on her arms. Jane had to force himself to stop touching her, so he stepped around her to politely open the front door.

"Have a good day, Miss Lisbon," he said calmly, but his easy smile barely hid his own turbulent emotions.

Teresa was robbed of all words, but mechanically walked past him out the door, across the porch, and down the steps that led to the boardwalk. Her hand closed around his lingering kiss, and she held it fast as she crossed the busy morning street. On the other side, she risked a look back at her house, and was surprised that Jane still stood in the doorway. She realized he'd been watching to see that she'd made it across the street safely. Warmth spread throughout her limbs at the thought that someone was looking out for her; it had been a very long time since Teresa had had that in her life. With a dimpled smile, she returned his brief wave, and hurried on her way to school.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Miss Grace Bertram, the mayor's daughter, straightened her straw bonnet and placed a small willow basket over her arm. Since her mother was in San Francisco visiting her aunt, Grace was temporarily the lady of the house, and was on a mission this morning to purchase the finishing touches for the meal she had planned for her father and his new attorney, Mr. Craig O'laughlin. Of course, they had servants that could do the shopping, but Grace needed something to occupy her long days since returning home from Miss Shettrick's Finishing School. It was a little depressing to think of herself now as "finished" when she'd barely even started living. But a woman of her age and position in society had but one choice in life: find a proper husband, settle down, and have babies.

Grace was under no delusions about her family obligations, and, in fact, looked forward to living happily ever after like the storybooks always promised. From what she'd heard of her father's new attorney, he'd been handpicked by her mother to be totally suitable. She'd seen him from a distance, and he was very handsome, but along with the girlish excitement of meeting a handsome man, Grace felt a tinge of regret and longing. She would never marry the man she really wanted. According to her parents, her choice of husband was not on their short list of Sacramento's most eligible gentlemen.

Grace sighed, adjusting her bonnet and gloves before going outside. With her red hair and pale complexion, it was a constant battle to remain unfreckled in the bright California sun.

"Are you certain you don't want a maid to run your errands?" asked their old butler, Mr. Stiles.

"Thank you, Stiles, but I am quite capable of going to the General Store on my own."

"Very well, Miss. Do be cautious."

She nodded to the kindly Englishman, then left their three-story mansion to walk the two blocks to the downtown shops. Along the way, gentlemen tipped their hats, women smiled and nodded at the pretty young mayor's daughter, well-known in the city since her childhood days when she'd run down the boardwalk, her flaming red braids blowing behind her. But she was a lady now, and must look and act every inch of it.

"Good morning, Miss Bertram," she heard countless times along the way, and she would respond to each well-wisher by name, which only endeared her to them more. She'd almost reached the General Store when she knew she must pass the jailhouse. When she was with her mother on such outings, she was always hustled along past the barred windows quickly; this was no place for a lady to pause. But Grace was not with her mother today, and found herself slowing her pace considerably. She attributed it to fate that at that precise moment, Deputy Wayne Rigsby emerged from the white-washed building, tall and handsome in his white hat and tan coat, laughing heartily at something he'd just heard inside the jailhouse. Her heart felt as if it would beat out of her chest at the sight of him.

It was the hand of fate again intervening—so believed Grace- as the deputy turned and saw her. His eyes widened in surprise, the laughter dying on his lips as he took in the red-haired beauty before him. He swallowed over the sudden lump in his throat. She had changed so much since their school days. He remembered vividly when he and Cho had sat behind her, Rigsby admiring the back of Grace's head instead of paying attention to Miss Lisbon's lessons. He could still feel the pain in his side as Cho elbowed him to stay focused. But what hadn't changed was Rigsby's deep, abiding, hopeless love for her.

Other pedestrians passed around the two who stood in the middle of the boardwalk. They received several knowing glances and smiles, but at that moment, they saw no one else in the world but each other. Coming to his senses, Rigsby removed his hat and covered the last few yards to stand before her.

"Good morning, Grace," he said, unable to overcome the familiarity of their youth to call her "Miss Bertram." She would always be Grace to him. But Grace was a finishing school graduate, and despite her longing to call him by his first name, her ingrained manners took over.

"Deputy Rigsby. How nice to see you," she responded politely, holding out a white gloved hand. He hesitated only briefly, taking her warm hand in his. Visions of the past flashed before him at their innocent touch. Stolen kisses behind the schoolhouse at recess. Country dances at the box social, where he'd claimed every waltz. Throwing pebbles at her window and talking to her in whispers in the moonlight. The night she'd finally met him by the river, and she'd let him touch her and kiss her, and bury his hands in her silken hair.

But then her father had become mayor, and Grace had been sent away to finishing school. At first they'd exchanged heartfelt, impassioned letters. Then, abruptly, all communication had been cut off, and Rigsby knew then that her new station in life precluded her marrying a man of his. He'd become the deputy in her absence, found solace in the arms of Miss Madeleine's ladies, did everything he could to go on with his life and accept that Grace Bertram could never be his. But then he'd seen her emerge from the train when she'd first arrived home three weeks ago. She'd been beautiful before, but two years of deportment and social training, and she was exquisite, literally taking away his breath. Rigsby wasn't a vain man, but even across the crowded train station, he saw in her eyes the same light of love he'd seen the day they'd said goodbye amidst tears and ardent promises. For that brief instant he'd allowed himself to hope, but reality had set in when she and her parents passed him by with barely a nod of recognition.

He realized he had held her hand and looked into her eyes longer than was appropriate, and he dropped her hand like he'd been burned.

"Well, uh, good day, Grace."

"Good day, Deputy."

He watched her move past him and continue on her way, his eyes following her rapidly retreating form until she entered the General Store three buildings away. With a shaking hand, Rigsby put on his hat, hanging his head in sorrow.

"That's one fine lookin' woman," came the voice of the peddler man, Patrick Jane. Rigsby head came up and he turned toward Jane, briefly enraged at his suggestive tone. But then he saw the sparkle in the man's eyes and realized belatedly that he was being baited.

"Yes," Rigsby replied, with a self-effacing grin. "That she is. What are you doing here, Mr. Jane? Turning yourself in?"

Jane grinned and moved from his place leaning against a post, where he'd paused to watch the love scene playing out on the covered boardwalk.

"Never. No sir, I've come to have a word with the sheriff, if he's available. A personal matter," he said mysteriously.

Rigsby raised an eyebrow, then went to the jailhouse door and opened it, sticking his head inside.

"Hey, Sheriff, you up for a visitor?"

Jane heard the muffled "Send 'em in," before Rigbsy stepped back, inviting Jane inside the building with a mocking flourish of his arm.

"Be my guest," Rigsby said. He followed Jane inside, disregarding his hint that the meeting would be private one. If the sheriff wanted him to leave, well, _then _Rigsby would leave.

Jane walked into the jailhouse, where he immediately assessed his surroundings. There was a three-room jail cell, complete with iron bars on the doors and on the small, square windows, two cots in each cell. The sheriff sat behind a large oak desk in the office area, a big, bullfrog of a man, completely bald, a green frock coat completing the impression. The small wooden placard on his desk stated its occupant was called Sheriff John Jacob LaRoche. He had been reading a slim volume of the poetry of William Blake, which he'd gently dog-eared and set down upon Jane's entrance. Sheriff LaRoche rose with a squeaking and sliding of his chair, shiny tin star flashing in the light from the window.

"How can I help you, Mr—"  
>"Jane, Sheriff. Patrick Jane. I've come to inquire about an outlaw that is rumored to be in these parts."<p>

"Jane, eh? You're the peddler man Rigsby's been going on about." LaRoche's soft voice belied the man's size and position, but it was a good trait, Jane surmised. It made you stay quiet and still to listen.

"Yes sir." He reached into his coat and pulled out the familiar folded poster, holding it out to LaRoche. "You ever heard of this man?" he asked.

The sheriff nodded at the chair in front of his desk, and LaRoche sat back in his seat, eyeing the picture of Red John with interest. Jane sat down slowly, noticing Rigsby had taken a place behind his own desk, a much smaller and less intimidating affair. Jane tried hard not to fidget as the sheriff took the time to read every word on the page.

"I saw you with that at Kimball's last night," Rigsby commented. "Bosco told me later you've been lookin' for him since he killed your family."

LaRoche, still quiet during Rigsby's exposition, shot his deputy a look of annoyance. Rigsby promptly shut up.

"Yeah, I've heard of this man," said LaRoche at last, his beady eyes landing on Jane's. "They've even gotten U.S. marshals on his trail, but no one's been able to find the hideouts of him and his gang. He has lots of followers, lots of people who take him in and keep quiet about it."

Jane nodded; this was not news to him. In his two years of tracking the man, he'd heard a lot of bizarre things about the outlaw. Tales of how his gang members were slavishly devoted to him, had put themselves in harm's way and taken bullets to spare Red John.

Jane swallowed. "Like the deputy said, Sheriff, he killed my wife and daughter, left them to die on a train bound for our home near Rancho Malibu. I've followed him for two years, always just right behind his trail of bank holdups and train robberies all over Southern California and now with his recent foray into the north. I got a tip from a woman in San Francisco whose man runs with his gang, told me she heard Red John was heading to Sacramento. When I went back to see her the next day, she was dead. Doctors said she'd been poisoned."

"So what exactly is it I can do for you, Mr. Jane?" he asked again, sliding the poster back to him, displaying little reaction to Jane's impassioned story.

"I wondered if you'd gotten a wire warning about him, received any information about his movements. I pride myself as an expert on the man, and I'm here to offer my assistance in helping you locate him. I aim to see Red John pay for what he's done."

LaRoche leaned back in his chair, its wooden joints creaking dangerously. "I'm not in the business of sharing official wires with the general public. No sense causing mass hysteria for something that may not even happen."

Jane's ears perked up, and he leaned forward in his chair with barely restrained excitement. "So you _have_ heard something. Please, Sheriff, I'm not what you'd call the _general public. _ I have a personal interest in this."

"Which is precisely why you shouldn't be involved. Go back home to Rancho Malibu, Mr. Jane, and let the law handle this. If Red John comes to Sacramento, we'll be ready for him. He's only a man, not a monster, made bigger than life by fools telling tales around a campfire."

"I saw Red John once," began Jane, his voice low and filled with dread, "in the street right after he'd robbed a bank. He walked right up to me, asked me if I thought it was my day to die, pointed his pistol at my forehead. When I told him no, he laughed and holstered his gun, then rode out of town with his gang. I'll never forget that long red hair of his, trailing behind him like fire in the wind." Jane's eyes became wild, as if burning with the same fire he'd described in Red John's hair. "If you think that Red John isn't a monster, Sheriff, then when he comes to Sacramento—and make no mistake, he will—you'll have to contend with others losing their wives and children, their husbands, their friends. Who are they gonna blame when they find out you refused help when it was offered to you?"

LaRoche silently assessed the man in much the same way Bosco had the night before. Patrick Jane was a man obsessed with vengeance; such men were capable of putting themselves and the lives of others in danger in order to satisfy their own personal desire for blood.

"I appreciate your offer of assistance, Mr. Jane. But it won't be needed at this time. Good day to you, sir."

LaRoche picked up his book again, finding his page and returning to poems about tigers and lambs and poison trees. Jane stared at him in disbelief at his easy dismissal. This was the first time he'd been one step ahead of Red John, the first time that maybe he'd had the chance to prevent him from killing someone else, and he felt dazed that he'd come this far only to have some head-in-the-sand sheriff tell him to go home. Well, he wasn't giving up. He'd stay on in Sacramento until he heard otherwise. He'd lie in wait for the bastard and watch him bleed to death in the street.

Saying not another word, Jane rose to leave. Without looking up from his book, LaRoche left him with a final word of warning. "Be advised, Mr. Jane, that if I hear tell of you interfering with the law, or taking it into your own hands, you'll be out of Miss Lisbon's comfortable boarding house and boarding right here with me and Rigsby, you hear?"

"Loud and clear, Sheriff," Jane lied, leaving the man to his delusions.

Out on the boardwalk, Jane took a deep, resigned breath of the dry, dusty air, then turned in the direction of the stables. If he were going to extend his stay in Sacramento, he needed to sell a few more bottles of his Amazing Elixirs.

A/N: Okay, now that our characters are all in place, about time for some actual plot (and action too, Bfangz!), don't you think? Look for that starting in the next chapter. Oh, and a note on the ages of the characters. I've tried to imply that they were at least ten years younger than on the show. At this time, Grace would have been an old maid herself at the age of thirty, for example. And speaking of Grace, I toyed with keeping her last name as Van Pelt, but I so wanted to have Gale Bertram in here as her father. I hope you don't mind. This is extreme AU, after all. So, how are you liking this? Please review and let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This chapter covers many things, so it is quite long. I've already written so much, that I'll just let you get right to the chapter. Thanks for reading!

**Chapter 4**

Jane returned from his wagon with a small crate filled with straw and an assortment of his bottled elixirs. Truth be told, they were simply mineral waters with different infused herbal remedies. He had it on good authority from a Mexican woman he'd met in Los Angeles that they were effective, though certainly not miraculous. St. John's Wart for his Elixir of Sleep, lavender for his Calming Elixir, ginseng for his Elixir of Love, and on and on. Jane was usually out of town before he was able to witness results one way or another. As far as he knew, he hadn't killed anyone yet…

He found the General Store and went inside with his wares, the bell on the door signally his entrance as he passed neatly beneath the "No Salesmen" sign. The shopkeeper, a young, dark-haired man by the name of Oscar Ardiles, looked up with interest as Jane entered the store. Ardiles noted the wooden box he held with an expression of wariness. Ardiles didn't much like peddlers. They weren't good for business.

"Hello, my good man," said Jane with his brightest smile. "I'm Patrick Jane, and I have a business proposition for you." He set his box on the counter before Ardiles.

"No soliciting, Mr. Jane. Can't you read? You can just turn right around with your quack remedies and peddle them somewhere else."

"Quack remedies?" Jane repeated in mock offense. "Now is that really fair Mr.—"

"Ardiles," he said reluctantly.

"Mr. Ardiles, I assure you that my Amazing Elixirs have been healing and enhancing the lives of those who use them all over the state. Now, I'll only be in town a few days, so when I'm gone, the townspeople are gonna want more of my elixirs when they run out, I can assure you. Friends will have raged about them to other friends, but alas, I'll be long gone. They'll come flocking to your store when they hear you carry them."

"You don't say," Ardiles said skeptically.

"I do indeed, sir. You could make a tidy profit. I'll sell you my elixirs for the discount price of twenty-four cents each, and you can make a tidy profit selling them to your customers for a five or even ten-cent mark-up. What do ya say, Mr. Ardiles?"

"Sorry to interrupt," came a soft voice from the back of the store. The red-headed beauty Jane had seen talking with Rigsby not twenty minutes before emerged from the dry-goods aisle. "You're that peddler man selling those special elixirs, aren't you?"

"Yes ma'am," said Jane, removing his hat. "You've heard of me, but I'm afraid you have the advantage. Your name, fair maiden?"  
>The young woman blushed in the face of Patrick Jane's smile and undivided attention.<p>

"Miss Grace Bertram."

"Enchanted," he said, kissing her hand. "So tell me, Miss Grace Bertram, are you interested in my elixirs? Surely one as young and pretty as you doesn't need the healing powers of some of my best-sellers."

Ardiles was looking on with rapt interest, and Grace flushed, afraid to mention what she'd heard from her friend Elizabeth last evening, about the love potion Mr. Jane was selling. The bell on the door tinkled as a new customer came in, taking Ardiles's attention away from their conversation.

"Mr. Jane," she whispered, and Jane inclined his head closer to hear. "I heard you have a certain…elixir that will help with—well, with…"

"Love, Miss Bertram?" he asked softly, amusement lighting his eyes. By this time, Grace's cheeks matched her hair.

"Yes, Mr. Jane."

"While I can't believe one as lovely as you would need any help getting a man to fall in love with you, I certainly can be of assistance in that area. But might I add, if it is Deputy Rigsby you are interested in, I don't think you'll need any additional…encouragement to catch his eye."

"How did you-?"

Jane tapped his temple. "I was once called The Boy Wonder, Miss Bertram. I know all and see all."

When her eyes widened, he chuckled. "Actually, Miss Betram, I saw your little exchange with the deputy. It was very heartwarming, I assure you."

She gasped. "That's why I need that potion. I _can't_ be in love with the deputy; my parents say he's not suitable. I need to fall in love with Mr. Craig O'laughlin. He's a lawyer and comes from a good family—a much better match. I have to forget about Wayne. The elixir is for _me, _Mr. Jane_ ._" Her earnest last words were accompanied by the shimmering veil of tears in her eyes.

For all he disagreed with her logic, he took pity on her, reaching into his pocket for the bottle she desired. He'd often had people approach him in private to ask for the more embarrassing elixirs, so kept one in his pocket for just such occasions (his other pocket held the "cure" for constipation). He slipped the Elixir of Love surreptitiously into her basket beneath a flowered cotton cloth.

"That's two bits, Miss Bertram," he whispered softly. She turned her back slightly away from Ardiles, and reached into the drawstring purse at her wrist. She dropped the coin into Jane's hand and looked up into his kind eyes with gratitude.

"Thank you, Mr. Jane. Thank you."

Jane shook his head, wishing he could tell her that there was absolutely nothing he could give her save a bullet to the head that would make her stop loving someone. If so, he'd have drunk his entire supply himself long ago.

"Good luck, Miss Bertram," he said sincerely.

"Miss Bertram," Ardiles called at that moment, having finished helping his more recent customer. "Your order is ready. Would you like me to have it sent over to your home?"

"Oh, yes, please, Mr. Ardiles. Thank you." She went up to the counter to make her payment, but the shopkeeper shook his head with a smile.

"No, ma'am. I'll just have the bill sent along with the order. I'm certain the mayor is good for it."

"Thank you again, sir," said Grace. "Good day."

"Good day to you, Miss Bertram."

With a quick smile directed at Jane, Grace left the story with a pleasant jingling of bells. Jane went back to stand across from Ardiles, where his small crate still took up a good amount of space on the counter.

"The mayor's daughter, eh?" inquired Jane, sensing a gold mine just waiting to be plundered.

"Yes, sir. Say, did she buy one of your elixirs?"

"I never divulge any private dealings, Ardiles. Not good for business," replied Jane, but the sparkle in his eye more than answered Ardiles's question.

"Well, Mr. Jane, I've been thinking about your offer. I will take your crate of elixirs for the aforementioned price."

"Very good. That will be four dollars and eighty cents for the lot. Another twenty cents if you'd like the crate for display purposes."

The man opened the cash register and handed Jane five bills, and the two men shook on the deal.

"Nice doin' business with you," said Jane, putting on his hat again. He slipped the money into his pocket. He couldn't have planned Grace Bertram's arrival any better himself. Not bad for ten minutes' work, he thought happily.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane considered returning to Miss Lisbon's house, but the thought of being alone there without her was too disheartening to contemplate. Waiting for the appearance in town of Red John was nerve-wracking enough without having to listen to his own dark thoughts. No, what he needed was a distraction, a way to kill time, and maybe garner a little more information about the outlaw's current whereabouts. Which is why Jane found himself in Kimball Cho's saloon, showing off with a few card tricks to the small mid-morning crowd.

There was much appreciative laughter and calls to "do it again," and Jane was happy to oblige; he loved being the center of attention. For keeping his patrons entertained and buying beer, Cho even rewarded him with free sarsaparilla. About an hour in, Jane heard footsteps on the stairs leading down from Miss Madeleine's bordello. He paused in his sleight of hand as the cowman, Bosco emerged from one of the doors at the top of the stairs. Seeing the man again, knowing of the liberties he'd taken with Miss Lisbon, made his insides twist with anger. The fact that this married man had just emerged from a night in a cathouse made Jane's feelings even more justified, in his opinion.

Bosco finished buttoning his dirty shirt over his sizeable girth as he made it down the last few steps. He scanned the crowd, taking note of Jane's place in it, and meandered over to the bar for his morning whiskey. Jane finished up his latest trick, then asked for volunteers for a hand or two of poker. As he predicted, Bosco asked to join them. Jane grinned to himself. The gloves would definitely be off this time.

"Thought you'd be long gone by now, Mr. Bosco," Jane said as he dealt the cards. "You're wife must be waiting by the door for you to get home."

Bosco looked first uncomfortable, then annoyed. "Well, I felt the need to stay in a real bed before getting back on a horse for the long ride home. You must know how that feels, Jane, only you get to ride in that comfortable little pony cart of yours."

Jane grinned. _Oh, this was going to be fun. _"I know what you mean. A horse cart can't quite compare with Miss Lisbon's bed, though," he said casually, re-dealing after the discards. Bosco looked up from his hand in surprise.

"What?" Bosco said, trying hard to control his emotions.

"Oh, sorry. I mean to say that I'm staying with Miss Lisbon. In her boarding house."

The other men at the table looked from Jane to Bosco and back again. One didn't often hear such interesting conversation in Kimball's. While everyone was distracted, Jane slipped an ace from his sleeve and into his hand.

"Oh," said Bosco.

"Of course," Jane continued, laying down his winning hand, "from what I hear, you're not welcome there anymore."

Bosco scowled at Jane's full house, then reluctantly pushed his coins into Jane's pile of winnings. The other men grumbled at their own loss, tossing their cards down in frustration.

"You shouldn't listen to idle gossip, Jane," he said tightly. "That kind of talk can get a man killed."

"It wasn't gossip," he said, pulling his money to stack it neatly on his side of the table. "Miss Lisbon told me herself. Over breakfast, I think it was."

"She cooked for you?" asked one if the other men. "Miss Lisbon don't cook for her borders."

"Really?" Jane said in mock surprise. "Nice that she made a special exception for me. Of course, she wouldn't cook for someone who took advantage of her hospitality, I'm sure." This time, it was Jane's voice which had taken on a dangerous tone. He stopped dealing the next hand, his eyes boring into Bosco's meaningfully.

The two men didn't notice how talk among the other patrons had ceased, and all eyes were focused on them. Of course, everyone had heard about Bosco being thrown out of Miss Lisbon's several months ago, and Miss Lisbon's subsequent trouble with the school board, but until then, no one had been brave enough to mention it—at least not to his face. They all knew Bosco was not a man to back down from an insult.

"I think it would be in your best interest to change the subject, peddler man." There was no mistaking Bosco's warning now. But Jane had reached his own boiling point, and something compelled him to keeping needling the man, despite the fact that it was not in his own _best interest_.

"And I think a real man wouldn't take unwanted liberties with a good woman, let alone bed whores when the man was lucky enough to have a good woman of his own at home."

Jane should have expected the punch, he really should have, but nonetheless he was surprised to find himself suddenly on his back—still in his chair—his jaw throbbing in time to the pounding in the back of his head. He felt the wetness of whiskey and sarsaparilla saturating the cloth of his best dress shirt.

"Hey!" came Cho's warning call. He came around the bar and walked over to the scene of the crime, helping Jane and his chair become upright. Unfortunately, the three other aces up Jane's sleeves had somehow been jostled free in the hard landing, and they spilled out onto the table, face up. All eyes went from Bosco, who had gotten to his feet (ready to hit Jane again if necessary) to the telltale signs that Jane had been cheating all along.

"Why you—" began one of the angry cowboys, who had lost the most money so far. He threw a punch too, but Jane had the wherewithal this time to duck. The punch missed Jane, but caught the other poker player square in the jaw.

"Damn! What the hell you do that for, Slim?"

"I was aimin' for the cheater!"

"Well, I ain't no cheater!" And the injured cowboy lunged at Slim, landing a hit right in the man's nose.

"No fightin' in my saloon, boys," Cho was saying, trying to hold back the two cowboys.

Jane snuck from beneath the fray, hastily pocketing his winnings and picking up his hat before walking toward the bar. Meanwhile, Bosco hadn't quite finished with Jane, advancing toward the man and grabbing his arm to turn him roughly around.

"I ain't done with you yet, peddler. Or are you a yellow-bellied coward?"

"Coward's better than a two-timin' whoremonger," said Jane evenly. This time, Jane was ready for him, and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the bar, swinging blindly at Bosco. It just glanced off his head, but the bottle broke, the alcohol splashing on Jane, as well as on a cowboy at the bar who'd been minding his own business, seemingly oblivious to the fighting around him. He rose from the bar stool, but he was so tall, it seemed to take a very long time for him to reach his full height. Jane and Bosco looked up at the giant cowboy in dismay.

"Sorry, Tiny," gulped Bosco, clutching a hand to his bleeding temple.

"Seems to me you took the first punch, Bosco," Tiny said in extreme irritation. "Guess it's up to me to take the last."

Jane ducked again, and Bosco dropped like a rock under the sledgehammer pounding of the big man's fist. Jane stood up, nodded his thanks to Tiny, and decided it was time to make himself scarce. While he'd been involved in his own little battle with Bosco, however, the fighting and punching had spread through the bar like wildfire. Even Cho was embattled now, throwing punches like a prizefighter as the serving girls and the prostitutes screamed in dismay. It was pandemonium, and if his jaw hadn't hurt so much, Jane would have been grinning from ear to ear. He straightened his shirt and tie, heading for the exit.

He'd just made it to the swinging doors when suddenly they swung inward with such force that Jane was knocked flat, banging his head again on the hard wooden floor. He was out like a light. Deputy Rigsby, attracted by the screams and the sound of breaking glass, had rushed into the saloon, unmindful that someone might be coming out. He looked first at Patrick Jane, lying unconscious at his feet, then at the mayhem before him.

"Holy shit!" Rigsby exclaimed, stepping over Jane. He reached for his pistol, firing one shot into the ceiling. A distant yelp of protest came from the floor above, and the brawlers looked up from mid-punch when the loud shot filled the saloon. "What the hell is going on here?" He yelled. He located Cho, his face and knuckles bloodied, holding onto the collar of the man he'd been pummeling.

There was a beat of silence, then everyone pointed at Jane's still form. "_He_ started it!"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Teresa had just returned from school when the knock came at her door. Fridays were short days in the springtime, so that some of her students from farming families could help with the planting. She had been disappointed that Mr. Jane had not been there to greet her, then pushed that thought aside as the sad wishes of an old spinster.

She set down her afternoon tea and went to pull open the door. She looked first upward at her former student, Deputy Wayne Rigsby, then her gaze fell lower to the man he supported awkwardly with one arm. Patrick Jane. He wreaked of whiskey and one side of his jaw was dark with an angry bruise. It was like Teresa had suddenly gone back in time, back when Sheriff LaRoche would bring home her father in just such a condition. She blinked back angry tears.

"Sorry, Miss Lisbon," said Rigsby in genuine embarrassment. "I didn't have anywhere else to take him. The jailhouse is full…"

"Wayne Rigsby, what is the meaning of this? How dare you bring this drunken…_swindler_ back to my home?"

"He ain't—uh—_isn't_ drunk, ma'am. Some spirits got poured on him in the fight."

Well that explained the bruise. "Fight? What on earth was he fighting about?"

"Actually, from what I could gather, he didn't start it. Well, not the punchin' part anyway. According to Cho, he was defendin' your honor, Miss Lisbon."

There came a moan from Jane as Lisbon continued to stand in her doorway in shock.

"Please ma'am, he's pretty heavy…"

"Oh, of course," Teresa said, standing aside. Rigsby practically dragged Jane to the settee, and Teresa stepped over to help, both of them struggling to lay the semi-conscious man down on the cushions, where he lay back with a groan.

"You might want to lay him on his side, ma'am. He banged the back of his head a couple times."

She pulled him to his side. "Don't you think he needs to see a doctor?" she asked with concern, as Jane's eyes remained tightly closed.

"He did. Doc gave him some headache powders, told him to go home and rest awhile. Believe me, there were men hurt much worse'n him. It was quite a hullabaloo, let me tell you—" Rigsby began with enthusiasm, but stopped short as his former teacher gave him the famous Lisbon _look. _He belatedly remembered that Miss Lisbon didn't approve of fighting, on the school ground or anywhere else. Probably had to do with those stories about her father, he suspected, and how Rigsby remembered seeing her brothers coming to school with bruises similar to Jane's when they were little.

"I'm not interested in hearing about grown men acting like children, Wayne Rigsby. Maybe you should help me get him upstairs to bed," she said firmly.

Rigsby blushed at the mention of the word _bed_ being used by Miss Lisbon. Before Grace had blossomed so beautifully, he'd been a little sweet on Miss Lisbon too. She still had the prettiest green eyes in three counties, if you asked him.

"Nah, ma'am, he'll be okay in a bit." Rigsby reached down and slapped both of Jane's cheeks, hard. "Hey, Jane! Wake up! You're in Miss Lisbon's house now, and I ain't—_am not_—gonna drag you up them—_those_—stairs." Jane yelped in protest at the sudden pain in his jaw, his eyes flying open in surprise.

"Ow! Miss…Lisbon?" Jane asked, his eyes still a little dazed.

"Yes, Mr. Jane. Are you in much pain?"

"My head," he mumbled, reaching back to massage a spot beneath his matted curls. Before she could think twice, Lisbon felt where he had touched, finding the goose egg-sized lump forming there. She was pleasantly surprised to feel how soft his hair was. Realizing Rigsby still stood nearby, she moved her hand away like she'd touched fire.

"I, uh, think he'll be alright, now, Wayne. You're right; he likely just needs to rest."

"Yes, ma'am." Rigsby turned to leave, but then remembered something else. "Oh, and one more thing, Miss Lisbon. Doc says not to let him sleep too much tonight. Somethin' about maybe not wakin' up again."

"Oh," Teresa said, looking from Rigsby back down to Jane with worry.

"Good-bye, Miss Lisbon. Nice seein' you as always, ma'am."

"Good-bye, Wayne," she replied absently, her mind racing, trying to decide what to do with her new patient. "Oh, and thank you for bringing him here. He doesn't have anyone else."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, then shut the door softly behind him.

Teresa went to the sink, pumping out cold water onto a cloth and bringing it back to place it gingerly on the back of his head. He sighed in gratitude.

"Did you hear that, Mr. Jane? The doctor said you weren't to go to sleep. You think you can sit up?"

"I don't know," he replied distantly. He grinned at her, then flinched in pain as it pulled at his aching jaw. "This couch is pretty comfortable. I always liked couches…"

"Alright, then, let me help you." She realized belatedly that helping him meant touching him, but like she'd told Rigsby, he didn't have anyone else. Taking a deep breath, she reached for his shoulders, then hoisted him upright, trying to ignore the inviting muscles in his arms. She couldn't ignore his odor, however.

"Phew, Mr. Jane," she exclaimed, wrinkling her nose. "You smell like a distillery in a sweat shop."

"Sorry," he said. "Bosco's fault."

Jane was wide awake now. He couldn't help it, what with Miss Lisbon touching him with her warm hands, the scent of cinnamon enveloping him. He looked into her bright green eyes, watching as hers got rounder when she noticed their close proximity. She stepped back self-consciously.

"Bosco?" she said in surprise, when the word finally sank in.

"The bottle I hit him with was supposed to shatter all over him. Got more on me, instead."

Her eyes narrowed. "What were you doing hitting him with a bottle, Mr. Jane?"

"Self defense, Miss Lisbon. He'd already hit me once; I wasn't about to give him the pleasure again, the son of a bitch. Oh, pardon my language." But he didn't seem sorry at all.

She sighed in exasperation. "And what made him hit _you_ in the first place?"

He paused, closing his eyes against the sudden loudness of her voice. Damn, but his head hurt.

"I called him out about what he did to you."

She was quiet, and her heart was suddenly pounding at the thought of anyone—especially him—standing up for her in this way.

"You shouldn't have done that," she said softly.

"Well, someone should have, back when it first happened."

She smiled sadly. "I'm used to fighting my own battles, Mr. Jane."

He opened his eyes again, and found himself reaching up to touch her soft cheek. "You shouldn't have to…Teresa."

Their eyes locked, and her breath caught in her chest. She realized he was about to kiss her, and she moved back, fearful of where it might lead her. He was a guest in her house, and injured, and—

"Tea?" asked Jane, too weak to pull her into his arms like he really wanted to.

"Oh, of course. Here, have my cup. It should be just right by now." She held the teacup and saucer out to him, and he took it, the dishes rattling as his hands shook. He sipped, then leaned gently against the back of the couch, thankful that it didn't reach his pounding head.

They sat together, Jane trying not to doze off and spill his tea, Teresa watching him with concern.

"You know what helps me when I have a headache?" she asked, happy that she finally thought of a way she might help him. "A nice warm bath. You might want to wash up anyway," she said, her cheeks flushing pink.

Jane's grin was unusually lopsided, given his injury. "That really sounds good. I know I must stink to high heaven. Might wake me up a little too."

He reached slowly to set his tea down on the table, then attempted to rise on his own.

"Wait right there, Mr. Jane. Let me help you so you don't fall down." She was right at his side, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, while hers went around his waist. He thought fleetingly that he sure wished he felt like taking advantage of their positions.

It was a slow trek upstairs, with Jane having to stop often to grab hold of the stair rail, but after several minutes, they made it without mishap to the bathroom. Jane began disrobing, removing his black coat with a moan. Teresa, who'd been standing uncertainly in the doorway, rushed to his aid, and she hung his garment neatly on a hook. It would definitely need a good cleaning by the look and smell of it. When she turned back, she saw he was now attempting to unbutton his shirt and vest, and she stood still as she caught her first glimpse of his smooth, tan chest.

His hands were shaking so much from lightheadedness, that he finally dropped them in frustration.

"I can't—"

"Here. Let me." She was trying desperately to pretend she was helping her little brother get ready for a bath, but the reality of this handsome man before her blotted out all other coherent thought. She settled for avoiding his eyes, taking one button at a time. Jane noticed her slightly accelerated breathing and looked down at the dark haired beauty working on divesting him of his clothing. It had been so long since he'd felt a woman's help in this way, that his heart began to race, and he heard the air starting to quicken in and out of his own lungs.

He reached for the nearby ladder-back chair, afraid he was going to collapse from hyperventilation along with his pounding head. She finished her job, then made the mistake of looking up into his eyes as he stood before her, his chest exposed through his open shirt. He saw her desire in the dilation of her pupils, felt the tangible pull between them, and slowly, he lowered his head to hers.

The moment their mouths met, she let loose a sweet gasp. Jane's breath hitched at the sound, but his hands came up to either side of her face as he parted his lips slightly, tasting her with the very tip of his tongue, uncaring of the pain that shot through his wounded jaw. A little cry caught in her throat, and her own lips opened, welcoming his sensual request. Her palms came up to his chest and they both shuddered at the contact, as the kiss deepened and grew with their rising passion.

Jane didn't want to, but he was feeling faint again from lack of oxygen, and he had to release her mouth before he collapsed. He grabbed the chair again, sitting down heavily as Teresa stared at him in shock, panting with her own near-swoon.

"I'm sorry," he said breathlessly. "My head—"

She brought her hands up to her cheeks in embarrassment. "Of course. You're not in your right mind."

He reached out and managed to catch her elbow, drawing it down until he found her hand. "That isn't what I meant." He looked up at her, noting with excitement the swelling of her lips from his kisses, but hating himself because right now, he could do nothing but look. "I'm not sorry that I kissed you, Teresa Lisbon. I'm sorry that I can't do more than that right now." His blue eyes smoldered into hers.

"Oh," she said dully. "Well. Let me just run the water and let you take your bath."

"Yes, please. I know I'll feel better soon." His simple statement sounded like a sensual promise, and she broke eye contact, hurrying over to turn on the spigots. While she saw to his bath, Jane reached down to pull off his boots, but pain shot through him and he sat back against the chair again.

"Miss Lisbon," he said weakly. "I hate to ask you this, but could you please remove my boots? I don't think I can do it without fainting."

She regarded him from across the large bathroom, needing the distance more than she had thought in order to clear her own head. At his soft request, she swallowed in resignation and came over to help him, avoiding the repeated mistake of looking up into his face again. That done, she stood up, wondering suddenly how he was going to climb into the big tub without falling.

When she voiced her concerns, the familiar teasing light came into his eyes, and a ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth.

"I think I can manage it. Although a few hours ago, I would have accepted your offer of help with much more…_enthusiasm_."

She smiled helplessly at his wickedness.

"I'll leave you to it, then," she said quietly. "And I'll fix you some broth for when you're ready. Just call for me or knock on the floor."

As she walked past him, he caught her hand again. "Thank you, Teresa. I'm glad you're here to take care of me." He felt her quiver at his touch.

"You're welcome," she said simply before she gently pulled away, closing the door behind her.

Outside the bathroom, Teresa leaned against the wall, in disbelief of what had just happened between them, still flustered and off balance. Her hands strayed up to her mouth, where, just moments before, his firm lips had moved over hers.

She stayed by the door awhile, though, worried despite his reassurance that he might hurt himself. She heard the rustling of the last of his clothing, then the small splash of water as he stepped into the tub. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to do the unthinkable…and join him.

A/N: Boy, that was a long chapter! There was a lot I wanted to cover, so I just kept going. Hope you don't mind. Now please, don't be shy—post a review and tell me what you think.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I continue to greatly enjoy and am humbled by your kind reviews and "favoriting" of this story. I'm afraid I'm loving writing it so much, that I'm neglecting my "Moonlight" fic, lol. But if you're reading that too, I promise to get another chapter up soon. Thanks for your patience, but I hope the chapter for this story helps ease the wait.

**Chapter 5**

Jane allowed the water to fill to his neck before he turned off the spigots with his toes. He relaxed into the warmth, letting it soothe his aching body. The back of his head continued to throb, but as he lay there, his mind rose above the pain to contemplate his kiss with Teresa Lisbon. Just thinking about it made his heart clench, his body harden in remembrance. She tasted so pure, so innocent, yet filled with a passion that had taken him completely off guard. He wanted her, and for Jane, that was a revelation. He hadn't wanted anything but revenge in the last two years, and then suddenly, to want a woman who wasn't his wife was disconcerting, to say the least.

When he was in the moment with Teresa, he'd only known blind need. Now, as his body slowed and his head began to clear, he felt the guilt settle over him as surely as the still water he lay in. He'd kissed a woman, and it hadn't been Angela. Intellectually, he knew he was free to find a new love, to marry again, but as long as her murderer was out there, he would never be free of his past. Was it fair to Teresa to allow her to hope for something he might never be emotionally ready to give her? He wondered if there was room left in his heart to love someone new, when it was still so filled with anger and hatred, and guilt. Teresa deserved someone who could give himself completely to her, to devote his whole heart to making her happy. Sadly, Jane wasn't sure he could ever be that man, but that didn't stop him from wanting her.

As he relaxed and pondered these things, Jane began to drift off to sleep, his last thoughts of Teresa and her trembling lips beneath his.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Mr. Jane?" After about half an hour, Teresa knocked on the bathroom door. She had heard nothing coming from inside for some time, no splashes or even moans of pain. She was very worried he had fallen asleep, or maybe passed out and drowned in the tub.

"Mr. Jane?" She tapped again, more loudly and furiously. She looked at the door and closed her eyes, knowing that she had to go in to check on him, but fearing she might be making a terrible, embarrassing mistake.

"Mr. Jane, if you don't answer me right now, I'll be forced to come in."

No answer. Teresa took a deep breath, grasped the doorknob, turned and pushed open the door a crack. She leaned her head in a little first, eyes closed. "Mr. Jane?" she said again. She opened her eyes and directed them toward the tub. She could see the back of his damp, curly hair above the lip of the bathtub—that was a relief. But just because he wasn't dead beneath the water didn't mean he was all right. Telling herself this was all completely necessary, she walked gingerly to where he lay, stretched out and only covered by a layer of translucent water. As she got closer, she could hear his even breathing. She thought about turning around right then, but remembered Rigsby's caution from the doctor. He was supposed to stay awake.

Teresa had basically raised three boys, so she was certainly familiar with the naked male form, and she'd accidentally caught a glimpse of her father once during a drinking binge, but never had she seen a vital, mature man like Patrick Jane in the altogether. Her curiosity threatened to overwhelm her, making her heart beat a crazy tattoo in her chest, turning her face bright red with embarrassed anticipation. Did she dare?

Since her father died, Teresa had stopped allowing herself to be afraid of anything. She wasn't about to let a little bit of nudity—_Oh, dear Lord! _ She'd turned her face to look at Jane's body through water that was still and clear as glass. He was glorious! His chest was smooth and lightly muscled, his arms even more so, but with a smattering of blond hair. His stomach was neatly defined too, that same blond hair starting at his navel and leading down to—_Oh, dear Lord! _

Her gaze alighted on his private area, but her mother's lessons on being a lady along with her Catholic upbringing echoed in her head, and her eyes skimmed past that tantalizing region of his anatomy to travel on to his nicely shaped thighs and calves. As she began the upward journey again, Teresa suddenly had the distinct feeling that she was being watched. Her eyes flew back to Jane's face, and she was greeted with a lazy, mischievous smile, his eyes alight with amusement.

"Learn anything new, Teacher?"

She gasped and turned away. "Oh! I—you were—and I—" The mortified words slipped from her lips, and she belatedly covered her eyes with shaking hands. "I didn't want you to be dead!" She finally got out.

Jane chuckled at her predicament, understanding immediately what must have prompted the proper Miss Lisbon to invade his privacy. It still didn't explain why she was looking him over so thoroughly though, he thought wickedly. He shifted in the tub, a little water splashing over the side as he sat up. He moaned unintentionally as his head spun a little with the sudden movement, and he was rewarded with a concerned Miss Lisbon, back at his side again.

"Are you all right?" she asked anxiously, her hand landing on his wet shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked up at her, the sparkle of mischief turning rapidly into sensual awareness. He wrapped his hand around her wrist, feeling her pulse leap at his touch.

"I'm feeling much better now. As a matter a fact, I was just gonna wash up…Would you like to join me?"

Jane caught the involuntary, amused twitch around her lips, the humor flashing in her eyes before she remembered herself and the proper mask fell again.

"Oh!" she exclaimed with as much outrage as she could muster, wrenching her hand from his grasp. "If you weren't injured, I'd—I'd… punch you in the nose! You depraved—"

"Excuse me ma'am," he said wryly, "but I wasn't the one peaking in on _your _bath…"

She huffed out of the bathroom, slamming the door so loudly that Jane flinched at the noise, grabbing his head in pain. "The offer is still open, Teresa!" he called softly, knowing full well she was still within earshot. "You could wash my back!" He smiled to himself, imagining her similar smile just on the other side of the door.

In the hallway, Teresa stopped short, panting with reaction to her hasty escape, as well as to the forbidden glimpse she'd gotten of Patrick Jane's body. At his teasing call, she grinned like a fool, losing the fight to be offended by his suggestive talk. Her quick exit hadn't really been to protect herself from his depravity, she admitted to herself, but to cover the naughty truth that she was sorely tempted to take him up on his offer. She imagined the stunned expression on his face should she tear off her clothes and jump into that tub he'd described only yesterday as being _big enough for two_.

With a last look of amusement at the bathroom door (from behind which she heard the comforting splashes as he washed), Teresa bounded down the stairs, heading off to the kitchen to heat up that broth she'd promised.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Grace was proud of the table she'd set—well, _supervised_ being set—and when her father had nodded his approval, she'd preened like a peacock. She didn't think her mother could have done any better.

Mr. O'lauglin arrived right on time. _Punctuality is good_, she thought. She admired how handsome he was, with his light-brown hair and pleasant blue eyes. She allowed him to kiss her hand upon her father's introduction, and she enjoyed the fact that she could literally look up to him. Grace was tall for a woman, and most men were usually her height or even shorter, so Mr. O'laughlin's stature was a definite plus. She tried not to remind herself that Wayne Rigsby was even taller that Mr. O'laughlin, otherwise, she would be making such comparisons all night long, and she was afraid Mr. O'lauglin would come up short in more ways than one.

"It's an honor to meet you, Miss Bertram," he said sincerely. "As you know, I'm new in town, so it's very nice to make new acquaintances, especially ladies as lovely and charming as you."

_He certainly knows the right things to say…_

Grace had dutifully taken the prescribed dose of Mr. Jane's Elixir of Love right before their guest's arrival. She wanted to fall in love with him, wanted desperately to be free of her impossible feelings for Wayne. And while the conversation at the table was lively and even interesting, something seemed to be missing, a certain spark or emotional connection that she simply was not feeling. So far, Mr. Jane's remedy was not working as well as she had hoped. _It's only our first meeting, Grace,_ she said to herself. _Give the potion a chance._

"Mr. O'laughlin," her father was saying, "you must have heard of the brawl at Kimball's Saloon this afternoon."

"Yes, sir," he replied. "The whole town is talking about it."

Since Grace had been busy at home preparing for this dinner, she hadn't been privy to the latest gossip as she'd made it known she wasn't receiving callers that afternoon.

"What brawl? Was anyone hurt?" She'd asked this, knowing in the back of her mind that Wayne spent a good deal of time there, mainly because Kimball was his closest friend. She didn't want to think about the rumors that he kept company occasionally with Miss Hightower's girls.

"Several were," O'laughlin said, "including that peddler everyone is talking about, Jane, I think he's called."

Grace gasped. "Oh, that poor man. I met him at Mr. Ardiles's store, Daddy. He seems a very kind man."

"Now don't go keeping company with peddlers, Grace," her father warned. "They should be beneath a young lady's notice. Trouble tends to follow such drifters. Why, I heard he was responsible for that whole mess in the saloon. Seems to me he deserved what he got; Cho's business is quite damaged."

"Yes, Daddy," said Grace obediently. "But I am sorry to hear about Kimball's place."

Just then, Mr. Stiles came to the dining room door. "Excuse me sirs, Miss, but there is a caller at the door. I told him that you were indisposed, but he insisted it was an important legal matter that could not wait."

"Who is it, Stiles?" asked Bertram.

"A Deputy Wayne Rigsby, sir," replied the butler, in his typical lofty tone.

Grace felt her heart leap, then directed her eyes to her roasted beef, lest she give away how affected she was just at the sound of his name.

"Show him in," Bertram instructed.

"Very well, sir."

A minute later, and Wayne Rigsby stood before them, hat in hand, looking a little embarrassed at having interrupted a formal dinner party. He avoided looking at Grace as best he could, focusing his attention instead on the men at the table.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Mayor, but I'm actually here to speak with Mr. O'laughlin."

The lawyer's polite interest sharpened. "How can I help you, Deputy?"

Rigsby cleared his throat, tamping down the jealousy he felt at O'laughlin's position at the table, directly across from Grace, and at the right hand of the mayor, a position he'd have given the world to be in at that moment. It pained him to think that this man was likely courting her, and there was absolutely nothing Rigsby could do to stop it.

"Well, we have fifteen prisoners under arrest for assault and disturbing the peace during that fight in the saloon today. They're all wantin' lawyers, and we've run into trouble finding enough to go around. Being that the jailhouse is dangerously overcrowded, Judge McBride has decided to hold a special session tomorrow morning. Your secretary directed me here, but I can see this is more than a business meeting," he said apologetically, his eyes landing involuntarily on Grace before skittering nervously away.

"Well, naturally you should go, O'laughlin," Bertram insisted. "New lawyer in town and all, you need to drum up as much business as you can, eh my boy?"

O'laughlin rose, taking his napkin from his lap and laying it neatly aside his half-finished beef. "I do apologize, Miss Bertram, for leaving this wonderful repast. But these men are entitled to a good defense, and I feel obligated to give them one. I hope you understand."

"Of course, Mr. O'laughlin. Please, think nothing of it."

"Allow me to escort you out," said the mayor to O'laughlin. After bidding adieu to Grace, he followed after his host. Rigsby turned to leave as well, when the voice of Grace stopped him.

"Wayne," she said softly, dropping the more formal _Deputy_ she'd used with him that morning. Rigsby's was forced now for politeness's sake to meet her eyes, and he felt again his tongue tie up in a knot, just like it had always done in her presence since their school days.

"Was Kimball injured?" she asked with genuine concern, although, if she were being honest, she'd felt compelled to stall Rigsby's departure with any excuse she could think of. Rigsby smiled; this was a safe enough topic.

"He has two black eyes and a pair of bloodied knuckles, but mostly he's mad at the damage to his saloon."

"And Mr. Jane? Did he really start the fight, like Daddy said?" She'd liked the peddler man, liked the kindness in his eyes despite a deeper pain she saw lingering there, and was surprised how much she didn't want him to be an instigator.

"Now that's a matter of opinion. Sam Bosco threw the first punch, but only after Jane had called him out about that matter with Miss Lisbon a few months back. I personally think Jane deserves a pat on the back for what he done. I wish now that I'd have beaten Bosco to a pulp for it myself, but my hands were tied, bein' an officer of the law, and all." Grace felt relieved that she hadn't misjudged Mr. Jane. He must be an honorable man, to have defended her spinster teacher like that.

"I'm sure you did what was right," she said to Rigsby, rushing to his defense. Rigsby felt the warmth of her words like a caress.

"Thank you," he said simply. They stared at one another until they heard the distant sound of the door closing behind O'laughlin, and Bertram's returning footsteps. "Well, I'd best be goin'. Got one more stop to make before I have to get back to the jailhouse. The sheriff is probably fit to be tied watchin' all them prisoners by himself."

"It was nice to see you again, Wayne," she said shyly, meaning it.

"You too, Grace."

"Still here, I see," said Bertram, stating the obvious. His gaze took in the loving looks that passed between the young deputy and his daughter, and he didn't like it one bit.

"Ah, yes sir. I was just leaving, sir."

"Deputy Rigsby, I'd appreciate it if you and the sheriff kept me apprised of the results of the court proceedings tomorrow. I'm thinking we might need to enact new ordinances against peddlers in our fair city."

"Yes sir."

Bertram took his place back at the head of the table, picking up his napkin and recommencing his abandoned meal. He waved a dismissive fork at Rigsby. "You can see yourself out, Deputy, I'm sure."

"Yes sir. Good evening, Mr. Mayor. Miss Bertram."

Grace's eyes followed Rigsby's departure with longing, and Bertram's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"A shame O'laughlin had to leave so suddenly. He's a fine gentleman, I must say. I could see him going far in this city. Maybe even becoming a judge some day. He won't be content to settle for mediocrity like some men around here." Bertram glanced pointedly at the door through which Rigsby had just left. "You'd never want for anything if you married a man like O'laughlin."

"Yes, Daddy. He's very nice." Grace knew her father was insulting Wayne, but that it would be pointless to argue. If it hadn't been made clear before that he thought Rigsby was off limits, there was no doubt of it now. Wayne Rigsby was one of the most honorable and loyal men Grace knew, and to her, that trumped ambition every time. She sighed and set down her fork, her appetite suddenly gone. Bertram, however, dug into his entrée with renewed relish.

"Mighty good beef here, Gracie," he said, softening his previous harsh words by using his childhood endearment for her. "You've done your mother proud."

"Thank you, Daddy," she replied with mock brightness, no longer so eager for his approval. Grace sat at her place as her father ate, her eyes drifting to the dining room door again, as if that could summon Wayne back to her.

She wondered wryly if it was too late to get her money back from Mr. Jane.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That same evening, Jane sat in Teresa's parlor again, wearing his last set of clean clothes. He'd begged her forgiveness for the impropriety of appearing in shirt sleeves and vest alone, and she gave him her blushing understanding, having only recently seen him in considerably less than that. He was still not quite back to himself, despite the refreshment of his bath, but he sat obediently drinking the third cup of the broth she'd made, the nausea from his concussion not allowing him to keep down anything else but that and tea and more headache powder.

Neither of them mentioned the kiss or Teresa's impropriety during his bath, but the two incidents sat in the room big as circus elephants. Jane felt himself dozing several times, but Teresa would have none of it. Every time his eyes drifted shut, she would raise her voice and regale him with another amusing story about the exploits of her younger brothers, or of her students, or she would offer historical tidbits of the town.

"Your cup is empty, Mr. Jane. Would you like more tea or broth?"

He opened his eyes a crack. "Any more liquids, Miss Lisbon, and I'll be floating my way up to the privy. As it is," he said, rising unsteadily, "if you'll excuse me…" And he made his way slowly to the stairs with a grin at her pinkening cheeks. He did so enjoy embarrassing her.

When he arrived back at the parlor, it was to hear the now familiar voice of Wayne Rigsby.

"Oh, there you are, Mr. Jane," said the tall deputy. "I was just tellin' Miss Lisbon here that there will be a special hearing tomorrow for those involved in the saloon fight. Though you haven't been formally charged for any crimes, you may be called as a witness, so you need to be on hand at the courthouse at nine o'clock. I told you earlier not to leave town, if you remember right."

"I do," replied Jane. "Not that I'm in any shape to travel anywhere right now. Though I'm considerably better, thanks to the unflappable Christian ministrations of Miss Lisbon." His eyes twinkled at her naughtily. Teresa was beginning to think embarrassment was to be her primary state around Patrick Jane.

"Uh, that's nice to hear," said Rigsby, sensing the hum of tension in the air. He glanced from his former teacher to the peddler, understanding suddenly lighting his eyes. He grinned widely in wholehearted approval. "Mr. Jane, may I have a private word with you on the porch. Beggin' your pardon, Miss Lisbon."

"Of course, Wayne. You can't stay for tea?"

"No thank you, ma'am. Busy night at the jailhouse, thanks to this one." But Rigsby seemed more amused than annoyed. Jane joined him on the porch, the hushed darkness of the evening having fallen over the town.

"What is it, Deputy?"

Rigsby looked around, as if to be sure no one else might be listening. He lowered his voice. "I have something for you. I swiped it from the sheriff's desk and wrote out a copy for you." He pulled a small white sheet of paper from his pocket.

"What is it?" Jane asked, his heart unaccountably picking up speed.

"It's that wire he received a few days ago, from the U.S. Marshall's office. Here, you take this, but know that I'll deny to my dyin' day that I give it to you."

"Of course. But…why? The sheriff didn't trust me with it, why would you?"

Jane barely saw Rigsby incline his head toward the inside of the house. "It's for what you did for Miss Lisbon, standin' up for her against Bosco the way you did. Put me and Cho to shame for not doing it ourselves. I don't rightly know what you can do with this information, but I understand why it's important to you. Don't blame you at all for wantin' that man caught and killed, after what he did to your family."

Jane looked down at the wire, touched beyond belief that Rigsby would help him like this. He stuffed it in his trouser pocket to read later, out of sight of Miss Lisbon's curious gaze. Jane held out an appreciative hand, which Rigbsy shook solemnly.

"I don't know how to thank you, Deputy."

He felt rather than saw Rigsby's grin. "You just stay out of trouble and continue to put that glow in Miss Lisbon's eyes, and I for one will be more than repaid." His tone switched back to serious again. "If, on the other hand, you break her heart," he warned, "well all bets are off, and you'll answer to me and Cho both, understand?"

Jane was happy for the darkness to hide his own smirk of amusement. "Understood, sir. I'll do my best. And thanks again, for the wire, I mean."

"Don't mention it—and I _mean_ that. Good evenin', Miss Lisbon," he called loudly enough that she could hear inside.

"Good night, Wayne," came her soft reply.

"Jane," he said, tipping his hat. Jane watched as Rigsby untied his horse at the gate and rode back toward the jailhouse. His hand slid into his pants pocket, caressing and weighing the paper as he might a bar of gold.

"Mr. Jane, are you coming in?" Teresa asked worriedly from the doorway, the light behind her framing her like a beckoning angel. Jane smiled at his romantic musings.

"Yes, Miss Lisbon, if I could trouble you for a spot more of tea…"

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this transitional chapter. You did? Well, please drop me a review! Oh, and by the way, TNT is currently rerunning season 1 of "The Mentalist" on Wednesday nights. They seem to show two episodes back-to-back each week at this point. It's still fun to rewatch that first season, isn't it?


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I appreciate your continued support and reviews for this story more than you know. This is likely the last chapter I'll have the chance to post for another week and a half, because I'll be on vacation. Hopefully I'll get time here and there to jot some ideas down, and I don't exclude the possibility that I can find access to a computer to post, but don't be too disappointed if that doesn't happen. In the meantime, I've written an extra long chapter to help fill the void (lol). The latter part of the chapter is rated "M", but hopefully tastefully so.

**Chapter 6**

It was a long night, and, in Jane's opinion unnecessarily so. Miss Lisbon took the job of keeping him awake very seriously. She literally would not let him rest. _Perhaps_ _depriving me of sleep is the key to my sleep problems,_ he thought ironically. For, the longer she kept him awake, the more he wanted to close his eyes and welcome sweet oblivion.

In the end, her own human weakness won out, and he watched in amusement her eyes drifting shut as she sat in the chair opposite his settee. From the old grandfather clock in the corner he saw that it was just after three o'clock in the early morning. She was so lovely in sleep that he admired her a few minutes in the lamplight, noted the sweet dimples that creased her cheeks, the length of her dark eyelashes, her peaches and cream complexion, and the sensual shape of her mouth. Oh, that mouth, which he'd plundered and found treasure beyond imagining. Just looking at those pink lips had the power to make his heart flutter like a schoolgirl's. It was almost embarrassing.

He awoke five hours later to Miss Lisbon's gentle shaking.

"Mr. Jane? Wake up. We fell asleep. Oh, dear Lord, please wake up!"

"Hmmm?"

"Mr. Jane."

Jane opened his eyes and focused on the woman who had just been visiting his dreams-dreams that were so real, so explicit, that he actually blushed upon seeing her. He was also glad he had a quilt covering his lower body, otherwise things might have been even more humiliating.

"I'm awake, Miss Lisbon. Will you kindly stop shaking me now? I feel as though my brain is rattling around in my skull."

"Oh. I apologize. But when I saw you sleeping…I failed you, Mr. Jane. You weren't supposed to fall asleep, and well, I was so tired, I just couldn't keep my own eyes open."

"Don't worry, Miss Lisbon, aside from a headache, I'm quite all right. I appreciate your concern however, and your care for me yesterday." And he met her eyes and grinned. To his surprise, she grinned right back, then looked shyly away.

"You're welcome," she replied. "Uh, well. I believe you have to be at the courthouse in an hour. That leaves you little time to spare, I'm afraid."

Jane sat upright, making sure the blanket stayed in place as he ran his hands through his tousled hair. He looked down at his wrinkled clothes. "I wish I had time to get my laundry. I'm afraid the judge'll just have to accept my rumpled presence."

"You could wear a suit of my father's," she offered. "They're a little out of date as far as the latest fashions, but they're clean and pressed."

In her attempts to keep him awake, Teresa had shared with him her hardships after the loss of her mother, how her father had been so broken after her mother's death that he'd crawled into a bottle and never came back out. Jane didn't tell her how much he empathized with the man. He could very easily have done the same thing himself, if his desire for revenge hadn't been stronger than his will to forget.

"Thank you, Teresa," he said. The use of her given name hearkened back to their kiss the day before, infusing the air with unfulfilled longing.

"I'll just get that suit for you." She was thankful for something to do that would hide her face from his knowing gaze.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As it turned out, Mr. Lisbon's old suit fit him perfectly, and adding his current ribbon tie updated the fashion sufficiently. He'd found it hanging in his bedroom upstairs after he'd washed in the bathroom, and he wondered if Miss Lisbon would find him less attractive wearing something that had belonged to her father, with all the bad memories that must be attached to it. But when he entered the kitchen, she smiled widely.

"That was one of my favorites that he wore. It looks very nice on you."

She set a cup of tea and toast on the table. "I would cook you something more substantial, but I fear you'll be late."

"Thank you. For someone who doesn't cook for their boarders, you've certainly been kind enough to break all your rules for me."

Of course, there was a double meaning in that, but Teresa was beginning to expect that from him. "What kind of Christian would I be if I didn't help someone under my roof who has been injured?"

He didn't comment, but sipped his tea with a pleased smile.

He noticed that she had changed her dress and fixed her hair, looking for all the world like she was going out too.

"Are you going somewhere, Miss Lisbon?"

"I thought I might accompany you to the courthouse. I feel a little as if this were all my fault."

He set down his cup. "Blame Bosco. He's the one who started this six months ago, isn't he?"

"I had thought it was all behind me," she said, and for the first time Jane realized that what he had done might have hurt her. He'd wanted some sort of justice for her, felt that her slapping Bosco's face and kicking him out of her house wasn't enough punishment for the trouble she'd gone through with the school board and the townspeople. He guessed bringing the incident to the fore again may not be doing her any favors.

"I'm sorry, Miss Lisbon. All the more reason that maybe you should stay home."

"No. I want to face him again, something I haven't done since the…incident. I don't want anyone to think that I'm afraid of this, don't want them to get the wrong idea about…you and I." She blushed a little at her own suggestion, despite the fact that their kiss might actually support others' speculation.

Jane hadn't thought of that. There must be gossip now, questions about why a current boarder in her house would seek out a former boarder who was purported to have insulted her. Miss Lisbon was alone in this house with Jane, after all. He realized his presence might make more trouble for her. He reached his hand over to cover hers on the table, looking with concern into her troubled green eyes.

"I'm sorry if this brings up old injuries, or invites new ones. I didn't mean to—"

"Nonsense. You were very honorable in what you did. I—I appreciate that, more than you can know. Deputy Rigsby told me what happened in the saloon. No one has ever stood up for me like that before, has taken a beating for me…" Her eyes swam a little, and she blinked rapidly, looking down at his hand on hers, feeling his comforting squeeze.

"It was worth a little headache."

She smiled at his understatement, then cleared her tight throat. "You'd best finish your toast, Mr. Jane. You barely ate anything last night."

"Yes, ma'am," he said obediently, but he continued to smile warmly at her while they both enjoyed their quick breakfast.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The courthouse on a Saturday must have been an unusual enough occurrence to garner a full house. That, and the fact that everyone was all aflutter about the saloon fight the day before. Nonetheless, Teresa and Jane had no trouble finding front row seats; the better for the townspeople to watch two of the key players' actions and reactions. Already, ladies were whispering behind their fans, and men were making suggestive statements as Miss Lisbon and her infamous boarder passed by. Jane stifled the urge to stand up and call every last one of them out.

Other familiar faces were present, including Deputy Rigsby , Sheriff LaRoche, and Kimball Cho, both eyes bruised and looking as tired as Jane felt.

Judge McBride called the room to order, and the fifteen defendants filed in to take the reserved seats at the front. When Bosco saw Jane, his jaw clenched and his eyes shot fire. Jane only grinned.

The judge addressed the court. "I think we can settle all this with limited formality, considerin' it's a Saturday and many of you need to be home for planting. Including myself, I might add. So I'm just gonna ask a few questions, then make my ruling. Mr. Prosecutor, you have any problem with that?"

A short, balding man stood briefly, obviously used to the informal ways of Judge McBride's courtroom.

"No objections at this time, your honor."

"And you, Mr. O'laughlin. I see you are representing five of the accused, while Misters Burke and Hart have divvied up the remaining ten. Any of you boys object?"

"No sir, your honor," each answered in turn.

"Well then, I'll proceed. Mr. Kimball Cho, will you please rise?"

Cho got to his feet. "Yes, your honor."

"Mr. Cho, what did you witness that occurred in your saloon yesterday afternoon?"

"Patrick Jane and Sam Bosco were playing cards. Jane told Bosco he'd insulted Miss Teresa Lisbon. Bosco didn't like what he was hearin', so he punched Jane in the jaw. I tried to break it up, but one thing led to another and next thing I know, the saloon was in an uproar. I tried to stop the fighting, but got caught up in it myself. Then Deputy Rigsby showed up and shot his gun. Jane was knocked out and the fighting stopped." Cho's delivery of the events was clipped and unemotional.

"Uh-huh. You want to press charges against any of those accused?"

"I think Bosco should pay for the damages to my saloon, Judge."

"I'll take that under advisement. You may be seated Mr. Cho."

"Mr. Patrick Jane. Are you present in this court room?"

Jane rose. "Yes sir," he said, addressing the judge.

"Is what Mr. Cho said the truth as you know it?"

"Yes sir."

"And Mr. Jane, are you familiar with the term _fightin' words?"_

Jane tried his best not to smile. "Yes, your honor."

"Did you knowingly have words with Bosco in order to start a fight with him?"  
>"Not at all, sir. I just wanted to put him in his place with regard to Miss Lisbon. I'm not a violent man, your honor. The only time I've ever raised a hand against another was in self defense. Like when I hit Bosco over the head with the whiskey bottle to keep him from punching me in the face again."<p>

There were titters of laughter throughout the room. The judge banged his gavel. Things might be more casual in his courtroom, but he wouldn't tolerate interruptions.

"What did you say to Mr. Bosco that got him riled enough to raise _his_ hand at you?"

"I told him I didn't abide whoremongers and men who ran around on their wives and took liberties with honorable women."

There was much murmuring after that bold statement, and the name Lisbon was bandied about.

"Those are some pretty harsh statements, Mr. Jane. You have any proof of this?"

"I have the word of a lady, Miss Teresa Lisbon, that certain liberties were taken in her boarding house six months ago. And I have my own eyes tellin' me that Bosco had been in Miss Madeleine Hightower's rooms the night before."

The judge had to bang his gavel again after that accusation.

"I see you have bruisin' upon your jawbone. You sustain any other injuries?"

"A concussion from hitting the floor—twice. But like the saying goes, I think my pride was hurt the most." He grinned and shrugged in self-deprecation.

"You wish to press charges against any of those accused?"

Jane eyed Bosco. Part of him wanted nothing better than to ask for the harshest judgment against the man, but he didn't want this to continue to haunt Teresa, and he'd heard the man had children at home to support. He was satisfied that someone—and it just happened to be Jane himself—had finally stood up to the big bully. Maybe he'd think twice now next time he accosted a woman.

"No sir, I don't believe I would. But I would like the opportunity to address the court, if you would give me leave."

McBride considered this a moment. "This is very irregular, but then, everything about this situation is irregular. What is it regarding?"

"The honor of a lady, your honor. Surely you would have no objections to me extolling her virtues in such a public forum."

"If there are no objections, you may proceed, Mr. Jane. You have two minutes,"he cautioned as an afterthought.

Jane turned around to the crowded courtroom, wherein he had no doubt were many of Sacramento's most prestigious citizens, and maybe even a school board member or two.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I believe a great wrong has been done to Miss Teresa Lisbon. Mr. Sam Bosco, while staying as a boarder at Miss Lisbon's home made certain advances that Miss Lisbon did in no way invite. She then ejected him from her home, but was later accused by a passerby of engaging in illicit behavior. She has since then suffered a hearing of the school board so that she might defend herself against these outlandish charges, not to mention the cold stares, gossip, snubbing and other un-Christian-like behavior from certain members of this community. In fact, Miss Lisbon should have been offered consolation and protection. Now some of you may be very judgmental of a lady of a certain age being unmarried in this society. Perhaps she has remained that way because there is no man in this town who is worthy of such a kind, compassionate and strong woman as your own Miss Lisbon, who has done nothing to earn your scorn or gossip. Someone needed to stand up for this much-maligned lady. I felt compelled to do it." He turned back to face the judge. "Thank you, your honor. I feel much better now."

Jane bowed to the crowd, smiled at the judge, and winked at Miss Lisbon before retaking his seat. Everyone sat in shocked silence, and then Wayne Rigsby stood and began to clap. Cho quickly joined in, and there was a smattering of applause throughout the courtroom, but Sacramento was a town set in its ways, and no peddler man, no matter how well-spoken, was going to change the way things were done. Teresa, however, was overwhelmed with emotion at what Jane had just attempted. He'd taken a punch for her, and now he literally stood before God and everyone and proclaimed her innocence, defended her honor, tried to put the hypocritical, disparaging busybodies in their place. She took a lace-edged hankie from her reticule and dabbed at her eyes with shaking fingers.

The judge pounded his gavel again, and order was restored immediately.

"Thank you, Mr. Jane. I'm sure we can all agree with that sentiment. Now, Mr. Bosco, you may rise and tell in your own words the events you recall of yesterday."

Sam Bosco rose, still wearing the dirty, sweaty shirt from yesterday, only now it had a few spots of blood. His nose was red and bulbous, and both his eyes blacked from the injury inflicted by the ironically named cowboy, Tiny. Jane was pleased to notice that Tiny was not among the prisoners.

"I've got nothin' to say, your honor, except there was no trouble in this town until that peddler came along."

A few people nodded in agreement.

"You have nothing to say in your own defense, sir? You admit that you started the brawl in Kimball's saloon?"

"Yes sir, but he was askin' for it. No man would sit still and let his good name be tarnished by a swindlin' con man."

There were murmurs of concurrence, mainly from the other defendants.

"Well, then. Here is my judgment. All of you detainees are free to go. One night in a crowded jailhouse seems punishment enough to me for public fightin' and disturbin' the peace . Now Mr. Bosco, however, since you started this mess, I expect you to pay for the damages to Mr. Cho's saloon. Mr. Cho, how much damage would you say you sustained?"

"One hundred dollars, sir, should cover the broken tables, broken mirror, the loss of liquor and the day off of business I've needed to close down to clean up the mess."

The judge nodded. "Sounds fair to me. Any objections, gentlemen? So ordered." The gavel came down again with finality. "Court adjourned!"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Outside the courthouse, Jane looked down into Miss Lisbon's face, shaded by her straw bonnet.

"If you'll excuse me, Miss Lisbon, I have a few errands to run. I'd be happy to walk you home first, however."

"No, that's quite all right. I have a few things to do myself." They stood just past the steps of the building, while other citizens milled around them, but at that moment,Teresa felt as if they were the only two people in the world. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, heedless of those who might be witnessing.

"I'll see you at home, Miss Lisbon," he said, his blue-green eyes taking on their usual sparkle.

Her heart fluttered at his use of the word _home._ "Yes you will, Mr. Jane. Good-bye."

He tipped his hat and she watched him disappear into the crowd. It was then that Rigsby and Cho approached her, removing their hats simultaneously. Lisbon smiled in greeting.

"Morning, Miss Lisbon," said Rigsby. "I just wanted to say that I hope people around here will start treatin' you a little kinder, thanks to Jane's speech today."

"He did what we shoulda done a long time ago," added Cho.

She looked at these two men, no longer the teenage boys she'd taught spelling and arithmetic to. "Mr. Jane doesn't have to live here, boys. You two have to do business with the people of this town. I've always known who my true friends are, without anyone having to say a word. I hope you don't feel a bit of guilt over me. I'm fine, truly. But thank you for your kind words."

"Well, uh, good day, ma'am," said Rigsby awkwardly, a little disconcerted by the tears glimmering in her eyes.

"Ma'am," Cho echoed, putting his black hat back in place.

She watched them leave, and it was then that Teresa caught the eyes of several townspeople, some who looked upon her with understanding, some with spite. To both, she put on her best, dimpled smile, held up her head, and went about her business.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Teresa had nearly reached her house when the whinny of an approaching horse caught her attention. She looked to the street to see Mr. Jane in his horse cart, the familiar bold lettering of the wagon cover making her heart skip a beat. _He's leaving,_ she thought, her breath catching in her throat. _No! It's too soon. It's-_

"Pardon me, ma'am," Jane called brightly, his gray hat set back on his head. "Would you care to accompany me on a ride down by the river?"

They both knew what it would mean if she accepted his invitation. The fact that he'd offered so boldly in the middle of a public street made the peddler's intentions pretty clear. A few months ago, Teresa would have politely refused, but now she realized that she was tired of trying to please everyone, of trying to do what others expected of her. First, it had been her father, then Master Minelli, then the school board, and lastly, the residents of the entire town. She looked now at Patrick Jane, a man who had shown as much chivalry as a knight in a fairy tale come to rescue her from her lonely tower. She'd never been a romantic before, but then, she'd never met a man with such mischievous eyes and a charming smile.

"Why yes, Mr. Jane," she said at last. "It would be my pleasure." She stepped down from the sidewalk while he jumped down in order to lift her up to the wagon seat. His hands at her waist were warm and strong, and when he joined her again, she inhaled his manly scent-sandalwood and warm sunlight.

They drove for about a half hour in contented silence, leaving the town behind for the beauty of the river. Riverboats moved slowly toward the harbor and Teresa found herself waving gleefully to the captains, who rewarded them with a toot of their horns. She remembered the thrill of doing the same thing as a girl, and she still jumped with a surprised laugh as the loudness broke the stillness of the morning air. Jane chuckled at her enthusiasm, enjoying this childlike side of her.

At last, Jane came to the spot he'd been looking for, taking the cart off the main road and down a bumpy little trail that led to a large eucalyptus tree. River grass grew tall near the water's edge, cattails waving in the light breeze.

"Why, this is lovely," she exclaimed as he helped her to the ground. "However did you find this place?"

"I followed the river into town," he told her. "And I stopped here myself for a rest. Fell asleep right under that tree there."

His upper body briefly disappeared into the back of the wagon, and he emerged with a basket and a folded blanket. "I know it's a mite early, but we didn't eat much breakfast, so I thought an early luncheon would be welcome. I stopped by the Silver Dollar and Mabel packed us up a hearty feast."

He'd brought a picnic! She couldn't remember the last time she'd been on one, and she knew she'd never had a meal outside with a handsome man. Her heart swelled with pleasure, but she tried to remain cool and collected, as a lady should.

"How thoughtful," she said politely, sitting on the blanket he'd spread beneath the tree. Jane set down the basket and joined her, tossing his hat aside and narrowing his eyes in annoyance.

"You don't have to do that, Teresa. Not with me."

"Do what?" she asked innocently, her pulse thrumming at his penetrating gaze. He'd met her two days ago, and it already seemed that he could read her mind.

"Put on that proper teacher/spinster act. You aren't really that woman. You're the woman who threatened Sam Bosco with a shotgun. You're the woman who called me out in the town square for a swindler. You're the woman who snuck a peak at me in the bathtub. You're the woman who waves to riverboat captains…You don't have to pretend with me, Teresa Lisbon. I know who you really are."

To cover her flushed face, she turned to look out at the river, untying the ribbons of her bonnet.

"You may think you know me, but I think I'm beginning to see who _you_ really are, Mr. Jane," she countered. His eyes grew shuttered and he couldn't meet hers now.

"What you see is what you get, Miss Lisbon."

"I don't think so. For instance, who was that well-spoken man in the courthouse today? You sounded like a big city lawyer in there, or a politician. I know you're a showman, with all your peddler ways, but today you sounded…eloquent, educated."

He laughed sheepishly. "You're right. That definitely wasn't me. I've pretended to be a lawyer a time or two. As a matter of fact, that's what my wife was hoping I would be when we settled in Rancho Malibu. I could make a pretty penny she always said, seeing as how I could talk my way out of anything."

"So if that isn't you, who is? You may have the others fooled, but you're not really committed to being a peddler, are you? It's a means to an end for you. You hide behind smiles and jokes, but I know you are a man in pain. But that isn't the real Patrick Jane either. You're the man who wants justice, who will stand up for a maligned spinster you just met, who isn't afraid to stand up to a man twice your size because you feel it's the right thing to do. You want the man who murdered your wife and child to pay for what he's done, and you're willing to sacrifice your own life and happiness to get it. You may go through life deceiving others, but at heart, you're a man of honor."

Her words hung in the air, and Jane looked uncomfortable with her praise. His motivations were not for honor or justice. He wanted revenge, plain and simple, and he would lie and cheat any way he could to exact it. He wished he could be this paragon she sought to ascribe to him, but Jane knew in his heart he wasn't worthy of it. But he also liked the way she was looking at him, so, for now, in the dappled light of the spring sunshine, he would let her continue to believe what she wanted. He gave her his best smile.

"Hey, why are we being so serious on such a fine day? I don't know about you, but I'm hungry as a bear." He reached for the basket and began unpacking its contents.

Teresa knew he was just evading the conversation, but she would let him, for now. Why spoil such a beautiful outing with talk of sober things. There was way too much sobriety in her life as it was.

"You're quite right, Mr. Jane. Let me help you with that basket."

Together they laid out a small loaf of freshly baked bread, slices of cold ham, a hunk of cheese, and a jar of lemonade. Another trip to his wagon yielded two china plates and two sets of fine silverware. She raised an eyebrow at their quality, but made no comment. They talked then of nothing—the lack of rain, the river, the beauty of the golden hills in the distance. She laughed at his humorous observations and remarks, challenging her with his quick wit and enchanting her with his dancing eyes and knowledge of the great poets.

She watched in admiration as he leaned against the tree, having removed his coat in the warmth and rolled up his sleeves. She followed suit and removed her shawl, then began wrapping up the remnants of their meal.

"Oh," he said suddenly. "I almost forgot."

He leaned back toward the basket, lifting a cloth at the bottom to reveal a bowl full of perfectly ripe strawberries. Her eyes widened with delight. He set the bowl between them and selected the plumpest one. He held it out to her, but when she held out her hand, he brushed it aside, smiling into her eyes and holding the red berry to her lips. He watched her swallow with nervousness as she opened her mouth to accept his gift, his eyes darkening as she bit down, the sweet juice staining her lips.

Next thing she knew, Teresa was on her back, her head pillowed by her own shawl, Patrick Jane kissing her with an ardor that blotted out the sun, blotted out the whole world. Their kiss the night before had been tentative, seeking, but this was something else entirely. Something infinitely…more. She opened her mouth to let his tongue inside, where it explored the warm, strawberry flavored interior. Her hands buried into his hair as she returned his kisses with a passion that made him moan and move his hands to the small buttons at her throat. He continued to kiss her, as his fingers worked, but then he pulled away a little, laughing against her lips.

"Why do women's clothes have so damn many buttons," he whispered.

"To protect them from debauchery, Mr. Jane," she replied with a shy smile. He met her eyes, moss green now and slightly dazed, but still welcoming his explorations. Her hands left his hair to help him finish the task, her chest rising rapidly against his fingers until he could pull aside her bodice and slip his hand inside her chemise. She gasped as he cupped her breast, molding and caressing it, lightly teasing the tip. His mouth returned to hers for a moment, then moved lower to nuzzle her neck, then lower still to rain kisses on her chest until he reached the buttons of her chemise.

"So many buttons," he mused, making quick work this time, anxious to taste her. Her hands found the back of his head, careful of his injury, but wanting above anything to pull him closer so he could find her breasts with his mouth. She cried out as he found her at last with his tongue and hand, and she thought she just might faint with the pleasure. Meanwhile, she felt the bottom of her dress being slowly drawn up, his hot hand sliding up one silk-clad calf to her inner thigh, just above where her stocking stopped. She was panting now, but then so was he, and she knew this must be terribly wrong, but she couldn't find the strength to ask him to stop now.

His seeking hand found what it sought, and his fingers hovered lightly over her femininity. He paused only a moment to see if she would protest, then he slid a finger into her slick folds, drawing lazy circles there until she was shuddering and crying out his name. He continued to suckle her breasts, drawing out her pleasure until she could take no more, convulsing around his hand and begging him finally to stop before she fainted. He slowed his movements and removed his hand, then moved over her, settling his weight on her for just an instant, breathing heavily into the curve of her neck, wishing with all his heart that she wasn't the virgin he knew her to be.

Jane was used to taking what he wanted, but he found that he couldn't take this from her now. Instead, he gave her another deep kiss, pouring all his unfulfilled desire into her quivering mouth.

"You're so beautiful, Teresa," he murmured, fighting for control. She was at a loss for words, thinking that she should be horrified at what he had just done to her, finding that she could not. She closed her eyes tightly as her body continued to quiver and twitch.

"Are you all right?" he asked, for once unable to read what she might be thinking. "Teresa, look at me… please."

She opened her eyes and saw that his were still fiery and wanting. She reached up to smooth a wayward curl from his forehead. "That was—I don't even know how to describe it." He smiled and kissed her nose.

"Indescribable," he said. "I'll take that as a compliment." She blushed beyond her already passion flushed cheeks.

Being an educated woman, Teresa knew about basic human biology, and while she had felt her own fulfillment, she knew from the lingering firmness of his lower body that he had not.

"But you didn't-you haven't-"

He kissed her lips lightly. "Don't worry about me. Seeing you like that was enough for me."

She looked at him skeptically and he laughed, then moved off of her with a barely contained groan of frustration.

"Patrick," she said with concern, as he rolled to his back beside her. "I thought that by allowing you to—well, that I was making it clear that you were more than welcome to—" She hated being at such a loss for words.

He looked over at her as she sat up, her bodice still open to him, and he was tempted. Sorely tempted. He closed his eyes.

"You don't want your first time with a man to be on a blanket on the hard ground, Teresa. Trust me on this."

He heard the rustle of her dress as she lay down on her stomach next to him, felt her soft hand caressing his face. She pressed her lips to his, and he nearly rolled her to her back again to take her with one swift stroke, but he restrained himself and let her have her way, trying to stay as still as possible. This was the first time she'd initiated a kiss, and he was curious to see what she might do, despite the renewed torture of having her body nearly atop his.

Then it was as if their roles were suddenly reversed, and he felt her hands unbuttoning his clothing as he just had hers, until she was touching his naked chest. He put a hand up to stay hers.

"Let me warn you that my will is not as strong as you might think." _And two years is a long time, _he added to himself.

"Thank you for your concern," said the very proper voice of the suddenly highly improper Miss Lisbon. "You just relax and let me touch you…like you touched me."

Of course Teresa was frightened; her heart was beating so fast she was nearly lightheaded, but she was gratified to feel his own heart pounding just as hard against her hand—because of her. This emboldened her even more, so she kissed him on his firm chest, her tongue laving his flat nipples while he made strangled noises in his throat. And just as she had learned from him, while her mouth was occupied above, her other hand was busy below. His stomach trembled at her touch as she trailed a teasing finger to the waistband of his trousers. _Did she dare?_ His breathing increased noticeably at the thought.

"Teresa?" he gasped, feeling as if he might literally die from anticipation. She raised her head from his chest and looked into his eyes, watching his reaction as her fingers deftly unbuttoned his trousers.

"Shh," she chided.

Somewhere along the way, Jane had released this passionate woman from her prison, and she found herself impatient to break away from the dullness of her life, the constraints of a society that didn't respect her anyway. So here and now, with this man who had shown her kindness, understanding, and now, passion, she wanted to give to him as much as he had given her. Making up her mind, Teresa slid her hand inside Jane's drawers, and watched with joy as he came undone beneath her hand.

A/N: Hope this tides you over until I get the chance to write again. I promise, BFangz, the next chapter will have much more action (outside the bedroom or blanket, lol). Next up: Red John makes an appearance.

Thanks so much for all your past reviews. I hope you will feel compelled to write another. Oh, and don't forget to sign in. I try to reply to every logged in review I can! Thanks for reading. See you back here soon!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I'm back! Had a great trip to Washington State. It's beautiful country there, and nerdy me actually got to see some "Twilight" filming locations, lol. Very cool. But now I return bearing a new chapter. The action will definitely start picking up a bit. Hope you like it…

**Chapter 7**

The ride home was a quiet one. Teresa didn't feel embarrassed exactly, but she had the sinking feeling Jane was regretting their interlude beneath the eucalyptus tree. He hadn't said more than "I'm sorry" since he'd found his own pleasure. Those two words had hurt her more than she wanted to admit, and she could think of nothing to say in return. _She_ wasn't sorry. She'd shared the most beautiful experience of her life with this man, and all she wanted was to savor the memory for the time when she was alone again, for the long nights when Patrick Jane had moved on to another town, another lonely spinster. But that was self-pity, and Teresa wanted no part of that.

In front of her house, Jane helped Teresa down from the cart, and the electric charge at his touch still made her heart leap. She could tell he was equally affected, and she felt perversely satisfied by this. He wasn't as immune to the experience as he'd seemed.

"I uh, need to get the horse back to the stables," he muttered, not meeting her eyes. She nodded, and watched him drive away…

Jane's mind was a riot of emotions, foremost being the all too familiar feeling of guilt. While he hadn't taken Teresa's innocence, he'd certainly manipulated it, used her for his own fulfillment. He tried not to think about how good it had felt to be touched by a woman after two years, how giving her pleasure had been almost as wonderful as what she'd given to him. But it wasn't right, no matter how he could justify the rightness of how it felt physically. He didn't have time for this, didn't need the distraction she posed that would only leave them both bereft and hurting after he'd gone away in pursuit of the man who'd taken away the only other women he'd cared about.

He should leave now, while her virginity and his desire for vengeance were still intact, before he fell more deeply under her spell and couldn't leave her at all. _She is my lotus flower_, he thought with a sudden grin that faded almost as quickly as it had come. It would certainly be the selfless thing to do, leaving her.

But Jane needed to stay in Sacramento until he heard news of Red John. He couldn't shake the feeling that Sacramento was going to be a milestone for him, in more ways than one, and he contemplated this with a mixture of fear and anticipation. He couldn't take his eyes off the prize now, not when Rigsby's purloined telegram had only confirmed his gut feeling that Red John was nearby. He couldn't leave Sacramento, so he'd just have to avoid Teresa from now on. No deep conversations over tea. No more riverside picnics. And he'd definitely have to start locking the bathroom door. Jane's smile to himself was bittersweet, so he reluctantly pushed those moments of bliss to the back of his mind where they couldn't cloud his judgment.

With a sigh, he drove on toward the stables, wondering if he'd still be welcome to kill some time in Cho's saloon. Maybe a drink of sarsaparilla would take away the pervasive taste of ripe strawberries that lingered on his tongue.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Teresa sat motionless in the empty downstairs of her house, her tea growing cold on the parlor table. She'd tried to read, to knit, to prepare Monday's history lesson, but she ended up setting all aside and staring into space on the settee, reliving the excitement of Jane's body next to hers, the smell of the leaves, the gentle lapping of the river at its banks, the sounds of heavy breathing and soft cries.

"This won't do, Teresa Lisbon," she said aloud to the quiet room. Resolutely, she got up and headed for the stairs. She would straighten the upstairs bedrooms, set out new toweling in the bathroom. She wasn't fooling herself, however; venturing into Jane's living space would only make her feel closer to him. But she found that she couldn't resist, didn't want to resist. She stood outside his room, told herself that she had every right to enter, then slowly turned the doorknob.

His room was neat as a pin, his toiletry items assembled on the bureau. She walked over to them, looking guiltily back at the doorway, half expecting him to mosey in with that knowing grin of his. A small bottle contained his sandalwood toilette water, and she removed the cork and inhaled his essence. A man's silver comb and brush set, expensive and monogrammed with his initials, lay on the crocheted doily. She was tempted to steal a bit of golden hair from the brush, but she restrained herself and turned to the bed. He'd made it as neatly as it had been the first day he'd arrived, but she found herself drawing back the quilt and bringing his pillow to her face. It smelled of him, and she closed her eyes a moment, imagining herself laying on it beside him. She was about to replace the pillow when she noticed there had been a folded paper beneath it.

It wasn't like her to be so prying into her boarders' personal effects, but she felt very proprietary over Jane, and was desperate for a way to understand him better. Her hand shook a little as she picked up the paper and unfolded it. She recognized the handwriting immediately, having had to decipher many a theme paper written in just this way. It could only be the messy, slanted hand of Wayne Rigsby. It was a telegram, she realized, but it wasn't on an official Western Union form. Wayne had made a copy, and she understood right away that her former student was helping Jane to seek his vengeance. She read through the message with a sinking heart.

Sherrif LaRoche:

Be advised that the outlaw known as Red John has been seen in your area, and his gang may be bent on robbing businesses in Sacramento in coming days. Consider him extremely dangerous, and take extra security measures with your local banks, train depot, and Wells Fargo deliveries. If caught, notify the US Marshal Service immediately. Again, I advise extreme caution.

Sincerely,

Levi Hildred, US Marshal Service

Teresa read the telegram through again, then refolded it and replaced the pillow on top. Mechanically, she remade the bed, all romantic feelings about Jane's room overridden by her sudden flash of anger. He was going to use this information to take matters into his own hands, she just knew it. He'd put himself in danger, probably even get himself killed to exact revenge on this outlaw who likely didn't even remember killing his wife and child. She felt a chill run down her spine, fear making her want to run and find him, lock him in this room and keep him from doing something reckless. But with a twinge of pain she remembered that he wasn't hers, and all she had of him was the sensuality he had awakened in her on a blanket by the river.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By ten o'clock, Teresa was forced to face the fact that Jane was avoiding her. She'd disregarded the notion that he might have left town, since his belongings were still in his bedroom, but that didn't ease her troubled mind much. She lay on her bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. Her hands skimmed over her lawn nightgown, remembering how he'd touched her, made her shiver with ecstasy with his hands and his hot mouth. She wondered if he was drinking away those memories, much like her father had those of her mother. She wondered if Jane had sought out one of Miss Hightower's girls to pay for what she would have gladly given him for free.

When she'd been of a more marriageable age, her virginity had been an asset, but now, as a confirmed spinster, it was not something she cherished anymore, especially since Jane had rejected her because of it, and she had the feeling he might well be her last chance. He was feeling guilty about what they had done, while she was left wondering what more there could be between them, if only he'd let go of his obsession with Red John and allow himself to love again. She lay in bed contemplating these things, waiting to hear the sound of the key in the door, worry lining her brow that he had somehow found himself in trouble again.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane had indeed been welcome back at Kimball's, but with a few conditions.

"No fighting," warned Cho. "And no cheating at cards. You cause any more trouble, and they'll be dragging the river for your body."

Jane bit his lip to keep from laughing at the man's deadpan expression, but managed a solemn nod and a mostly respectful, "Yes sir."

At first, no one would play cards with him, but Rigsby took pity on him and sat down at the table across from the peddler. Jane let him win the first two hands, which was enough to instill confidence within the deputy and the saloon at large to have a few more players join them. Soon, the table was lively with Jane's stories of the road and his time with a circus sideshow, so that the players didn't noticed so much that Jane was winning about every other hand.

Hours later, when Jane fished out his pocket watch, he saw that it was already ten o'clock. That was the time Miss Lisbon usually went to bed, so he figured he could head back to the boarding house and not have to face her.

"Well, gentlemen," he said, sliding his winnings toward him, and downing the last of his umpteenth sarsaparilla. "Off I go, I'm afraid."

"It's early yet," complained a weathered cowboy, glancing at his own meager stack of coins.

"Early to bed, etc.," he said with a wry grin. "But please, continue without me, boys; no amount of beauty sleep is gonna help you ugly sons of bitches."

They laughed good-naturedly and Jane was able to leave them with a smile, as any good showman should. He dropped several coins on the bar for Cho, evaded the seductive smile of Miss Madeleine, and headed for the door. Rigsby was waiting to escort him out. They stood outside in the shadows of the awning.

"Just thought you'd like to know, Jane," he said, his voice just loud enough to carry over the tinkling of the piano. "Wells Fargo is coming with a load of gold from San Francisco Monday. I'm thinking if Red John has plans for Sacramento, that'd be the time he'd strike."

Jane's eyes took on the intense gleam that made Rigsby immediately regret telling him. "What time, exactly?"

Rigsby hesitated, but knew Jane would just snoop around until he found out anyway. "Eight in the mornin'. But you ain't gonna be near that bank, ya hear me? If Red John attempts anything, the sheriff and me got it covered. Stay out of it and leave matters to the professionals."

"Two men isn't enough to stop Red John, Deputy."

"No, that's why we've got help comin' in from Stockton, and the wagon from San Francisco will have its own guns. We'll get that bastard and his gang, you wait and see." His hand went to the six shooters at his sides.

Jane shook his head at the man's overinflated confidence. "The only thing that's gonna get Red John is overwhelming numbers and fire power, something you don't have, even with help from Stockton. What you need is a plan to outsmart him. He knows all the tricks, Rigsby. You boys will be walking into an ambush."

Even in the dim light, Jane could see Rigsby's skepticism. "You think you could come up with a better plan?"

"Almost certainly," he replied. "If you think the sheriff would listen to me."

Rigsby laughed. "He don't even listen to _me_. Just forget about it, Jane. Sit tight in Miss Lisbon's parlor and let her make you some _tea _to pass the time." He raised his eyebrows suggestively, and damned if Jane didn't feel himself blush. Good thing it was dark. He cleared his throat.

"I'm not gonna interfere," Jane lied. "I just want to be around when you catch him."

"Just make sure it's a safe distance away, and remember, you never heard this from me."

"Naturally, my friend," assured Jane, holding out his hand. "Thanks." Rigsby shook his hand, but Jane knew he was rightly suspicious. "Now," he yawned, "I best get on home to bed. I'm sure Miss Lisbon must be worried." His wicked grin caught the light from the saloon as a cowboy came through the swinging doors. Rigsby chuckled and went back inside. Jane headed down the deserted boardwalk toward Teresa's house. Neither of the men noticed the cowboy watching their parting of ways with narrowed eyes.

Jane stopped walking when he stood before Mills Bank. He stepped back to get a better look at the white-washed, wooden facade, then peaked in the window, hoping to see someone working late with a light on, but he was disappointed to be staring into blackness. He looked both ways, then shuffled sideways through the narrow passageway that led to the alley behind the building. In the moonlight, Jane saw that a ramp led from a small loading dock up to a heavy door with no doorknob. When the Wells Fargo wagon arrived, it would surely go here to unload its precious cargo. Monday morning, he'd be waiting for it too.

The sarsaparilla seemed to have caught up with him, and he unbuttoned his fly to relieve himself. His hand at his crotch, Jane suddenly overheard at least three voices coming from outside the office building next door. An attorney's office, if he remembered correctly. He tried to hurry up his business, but he'd drunk a lot of soda. When the whispered words from the men reached his ears, he pressed closer into the shadows of the bank's back wall to listen.

"…and it'll be here at eight, so you better be ready."

"They'll be lookin' for us to arrive on horseback, but we'll already be here waitin'. You got that deputy's badge I asked for?"

"Yeah," answered the first man with a low chuckle. "One less deputy in Stockton now. I don't think his widow appreciated what I gave her in return though. I thought it was a fair enough trade myself."

There was more soft laughter, and flippant remarks about the other man's lack of prowess. The smell of tobacco smoke accompanied the glowing red cigarette tips he could see bobbing around them like fireflies in the night, and Jane's heart pounded a mad tattoo against his chest. These men could be working for Red John, and he had to get to Rigsby and LaRoche to warn them that this would be a trap, just like Jane had predicted.

He didn't even hear the man who had snuck up behind him, but his last thought before he hit the dirt was to wonder how many times a body could get hit on the back of the head before it would do permanent damage.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Jane came to, it was even darker than before, and it took him a few disoriented seconds to realize he'd been blindfolded. His tongue was dry as cotton, probably because his mouth was stuffed with it, held fast by a bandanna that tasted of old sweat. Jane tried to stop himself from gagging so he wouldn't choke to death, but it was a tough proposition, especially lying on his side this way, hands and feet bound with scratchy rope. His head throbbed painfully. He could tell he was inside, lying on a wooden floor, and the familiar voices wafted in from a room somewhere behind him. Their boot steps were coming closer, and in a moment he could detect a faint light from behind the thin blindfold, and the steps paused before him.

"So," said the soft, almost effeminate voice from Jane's nightmares. "This is the man you found listenin' in with his dick in his hand."

The men laughed heartily at Red John's joke. Another voice had joined them, this one more refined, better educated. Jane would bet his life (and he was afraid he was about to lose that bet either way) that this man was a lawyer. Jane began to perspire profusely, wondering if these were his last moments on this earth. He thought of Teresa, of her warning that seeking revenge would only hurt him in the end. He wondered if she would be sorry she was right. Then he thought with renewed sadness of Angela and Charlotte, how he'd failed them once again. There would be no one left to make this madman suffer for what he'd done to them.

"Take off his blindfold," Red John was saying. "He looks familiar to me."

Jane blinked a few times at the lantern light , then looked up into the face of the devil, who was at that moment shaking his crimson head in confusion. "I can't quite place him…he look familiar to you, Todd?"

"Can't say he does, Red," replied the outlaw's companion.

Red John turned back to Jane. "You know who I am, Goldilocks?"

He knew his reply could mean his death, but at this moment in time, Jane found himself incapable of lying. He nodded, eyes wide with fear.

"Take off his gag, Jared," he ordered the man standing nearest Jane. The scruffy cowboy pulled down the bandanna with dirty hands. Jane spit out the cotton wadding, his eyes never leaving the murderer.

"Well, tell me how you know me, and maybe that'll jog my memory."

"You killed my wife and child," he said, his voice raspy and shaking.

"No," said Red John, considering, a gloved hand tapping his bottom lip. "That's not it. It'll come to me. Put the gag back on him. I hate it when I can't remember something.' I'm pretty good at faces usually."

Jane shook his head violently, trying to resist the gag's return. The man called Jared didn't put the cotton in again thankfully, but instead tied the reeking bandanna more tightly around his bruised jaw. Jane flinched and quit fighting.

"What do you want to do with him, Boss?" asked Todd. "I woulda shot him, but that deputy at the saloon woulda come runnin'."

"Let's just slit his throat," suggested Jared, pulling out a knife from a scabbard with an expression akin to glee.

"We have no way to dispose of the body without some busybody seeing us. This town is full of them." It was the lawyer talking, and Jane tore his eyes from Red John long enough to look the man in the face. He recognized him as the attorney who'd represented Sam Bosco. In that same instant, the lawyer remembered him too.

"I know who this is," he said to Red John. "His name is Jane. He was involved in a saloon brawl the other day. Just passing through town, I heard. If he disappears, no one will miss him."

Red John shook his head. "Don't jog my memory none. Keep him here and quiet until we leave. Then you can kill him." The men filed back out the way they'd come, leaving Jane shaking and nearly sobbing on the cold, hard floor.

A/N: And so, they meet again. I know on the show they are nemeses, but I thought it might be even more tragic if Red John didn't know who the hell Jane was. Please sign in and let me know your thoughts!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: You readers and reviewers out there totally rock! Thanks so much for the encouraging response to this story. I hope I continue to entertain you. It's funny that so many of you naturally expect Lisbon to save Jane. Gee, have some faith in the poor guy, will ya? I had a little fun in this chapter, amidst the search for Jane, and took some time to provide a little more background on some of the main characters. Hope it doesn't take away too much from the flow of the story.

**Chapter 8**

Teresa woke with a start, noting instantly that daylight was streaming in through the white lace curtains of her bedroom window. Without even grabbing her wrapper, she ran from her room, climbed the stairs, and knocked on Jane's door.

"Mr. Jane?" She pounded again to no avail, then opened the door. Just as she had feared, the room was as she'd left it the day before; he hadn't slept in his bed.

"Oh, God. Maybe he _did_ leave," she said aloud, the words trembling over her restrained sobs. But then she remembered the telegram, and worry suffused her. If Red John had made it into town, Jane would have no qualms attempting to stop him. Maybe he needed help. She ran back to her room, quickly washed and dressed, grabbing a red ribbon from her bureau to hastily tie back her long, dark curls at her nape. Thus attired, Teresa stepped out of her house into a quiet Sunday morning. She would likely miss Mass, but somehow she felt that God would forgive her if she helped to save a life.

In her hurry to make it to the jailhouse, she brushed past others on their way to church in their Sunday best. Their whispered disapproval at her hatless, unladylike pace followed her through the center of town. She tried her best to ignore them, her patience with these people starting to wear thinner and thinner with every step she took.

Teresa didn't even bother knocking on the sheriff's door, but pushed it open almost violently, surprising LaRoche, who was reading a passage of the Bible to a hung-over drunkard within the jail cell.

"Miss Lisbon," he said hesitantly. "Is there something the matter?"

"Where is Deputy Rigsby?"she asked shortly.

"Why, he has Sunday mornings off, Miss Lisbon. I expect you'll find him in church. May I be of assistance?"

Once he'd recovered from the initial shock of her appearance, he went back to his quiet, unruffled demeanor. She wanted to ask about the telegram and Red John but she didn't want to get Wayne Rigsby in trouble, so she shook her head.

"No, Sheriff. Sorry to have bothered you. It's a uh—personal matter with the deputy. Thank you anyway."

"You're wel—"

And then she was gone, the door slamming shut behind her. LaRoche stared after her a moment with narrowed eyes. He'd never seen the school teacher in such a harried state, so he knew there must be something very wrong for her to be acting this way. She'd always been feisty, but cordial toward him. He wondered if this had anything to do with the troublesome peddler who was staying at her house.

He shook his head, thinking that tomorrow morning, when the Wells Fargo wagon arrived, he wouldn't have time to be sitting and ruminating over the small dramas of Sacramento's townsfolk. He'd be organizing the men arriving from Stockton. If the outlaw Red John showed up, he'd have much bigger fish to fry.

"Hey, Sheriff, you got any hair of the dog?" came the pained voice of the jailhouse's most frequent overnight visitor. LaRoche ignored his call for more drink and opened the Bible again.

"Let's see…we stopped in Ephesians, I believe…oh yes…'And be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess; but be filled with the Spirit…'"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Teresa was about to head to Rigsby's church, but decided that before she made an even bigger scene there, she'd check one more place he might be, as painful as the possibility was. She hurried down the boardwalk to Kimball's Saloon. She'd never before set foot in a saloon, but this was an emergency, and besides, it wasn't as if it were _really_ the den of the devil. Nevertheless, to be cautious, she crossed herself quickly before entering through the swinging doors.

She surveyed the place warily, noting only a few early risers scattered among the tables, drinking their breakfasts from whiskey bottles. One or two were accompanied by ladies she was certain were employees of the infamous Miss Hightower, sitting on their laps in little more than their corsets. Teresa blushed and looked hastily away to the bar.

Kimball Cho's eyes widened at the appearance of his former teacher, and he felt a momentary shame that his life had come to this. He'd been good at writing, and Miss Lisbon had encouraged him to try to get some of his stories published. But when his parents died in the flood of '61, he'd taken the money they'd left him and gone hog wild, gambling, whoring, drinking, and generally rebelling against his strict Catholic upbringing. If he hadn't won this saloon in a poker game, he'd probably be broke and sleeping in the gutters. He stepped around the bar to greet her.

"Miss Lisbon. May I help you with something?"

"Yes, Kimball. I'm looking for Mr. Jane. He didn't return to the boarding house last night, and I was worried that he might have come to some…mischief again." She blushed about a hundred shades of red, realizing how much she was giving away about her feelings for Jane in just that short speech. Cho, however, seemed unfazed. He didn't like telling the wives of his customers of their private comings and goings—it was bad business—but this was Miss Lisbon, and she must be troubled indeed to have ventured into a saloon of all places. And besides, she wasn't Jane's wife.

"He was here until about ten last night. Then he left."

Her head actually dropped, and she closed her eyes, her fingertips massaging the crease above her nose. He had left relatively early. Where could he have gone? She looked up to thank Cho, but her eye was caught by the approach of Madeleine Hightower. She walked proudly, her shapely bosom and hips swaying in her corset and knickers, a green silk wrapper hanging open shamelessly.

"Well, as I live and breathe…is that Teresa Lisbon, schoolmarm of our fair city?"

Teresa lifted her jaw, her mouth in a firm line. "Miss Hightower,"she said tightly.

"You used to call me Maddie," said the madam softly.

"That's when we were friends," Teresa countered. Each woman stared at the other, regret filling their eyes as they remembered their complicated past.

When Maddie Hightower had arrived five years ago, a freed slave accompanying Grace Bertram's aunt from New Orleans, Teresa took it upon herself to teach her to read and write (unbeknownst to Aunt Amelia). Madeleine quickly learned, and she and Teresa formed an unconventional friendship. But Madeleine's exotic beauty made her the object of many a man's notice, and it wasn't long before she fell in love with a dashing deputy, named Rance Howard. Sacramento wasn't a very forward thinking city at the time, however, and while the Civil War was over, some still considered it sinful for the races to mix. As Teresa would soon learn firsthand, the townsfolk did not take kindly to change.

Howard's sudden death was mysterious at best, and Madeleine, heartbroken, shut the door on the life she might have had and turned away from her friendship with Teresa. She began hearing rumors that Madeleine was making a living on her back, and that the previous madam at Kimball's had been grooming her to take over. At first, Teresa defended her to Grace and to her spiteful aunt who was out a lady's companion for the trip back to Louisiana. But as talk spread of the welcome addition to the saloon's upstairs rooms, Teresa had to accept that her friend was now lost to her. But then again, Teresa was used to loss.

"Well, I'm sure you didn't come here to relive old memories," said Madeleine, her sensual mask falling again. "What could possibly bring the very proper Miss Lisbon to a saloon in clear view of God and everybody?"

"I'm looking for my boarder, Mr. Patrick Jane. You haven't seen him, have you?" Teresa swallowed the lump in her throat at having to even ask this of her. Madeleine contemplated baiting the woman, but Teresa had never said an unkind word to her, even after her drastic change in occupation. She remembered with a twinge of pain what it was like to be in love, and recognized the signs in her old friend. Empathy filled her heart and her smile grew genuine, though with more than a touch of melancholy.

"No, Teresa, he hasn't been visiting me or my girls. Not that I didn't invite him, mind you-he is one delicious looking man. You do your best to hold on to that one. Men like him don't come along in this dried up old town every day."

Teresa nodded, overcome with the sudden realization that she wasn't just concerned about Jane; she missed him, missed his easy smile and charming ways. Missed his kisses.

"Thank you…Maddie." She gave the madam a ghost of a smile, then turned back to Cho, who had watched the interaction between the two women in fascination.

"Kimball, if you see Mr. Jane, please tell him to return to the boarding house…He uh, owes me a dollar for his room," she added as a quick afterthought.

Cho almost smiled; she wasn't fooling anyone. "Yes, ma'am, Miss Lisbon."

"Good day to you both," Teresa said, and left the saloon, shaken in more ways than one. Madeleine stared wistfully after her.

A quick inquiry at the stables and she found that Jane's wagon and pony were still there, and that Jane had paid for two more days in advance. This confirmed to her that he hadn't left without saying goodbye, and she grew warm with pleasure that maybe she still had a chance to make things right with him. But the feeling of reassurance quickly faded when she realized that her other fear of him being in trouble might well be the explanation for his disappearance. Teresa hurried toward the First Christian Church. Sunday services there should have only just begun.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Grace's father had invited Craig O'laughlin to sit with them in church. As far as a public sanction of the lawyer's courting of his daughter, that was about as clear a statement as the mayor could make. As O'laughlin held the hymnal they shared, Grace could feel the approving eyes upon them, caught the smiles and nods of those who obviously considered them a perfect match. Grace, however, was miserable, especially when she looked across the aisle to the long pew that housed Wayne Rigsby and his mother.

She tried not to catch his eye, she really did, but his blue eyes invariable found hers, and amidst the jealousy, she saw a softness in his gaze, a longing that made her pause and fumble over the words of "How Great Thou Art." O'laughlin looked at her curiously, and Grace smiled in true embarrassment. When she glanced at Wayne again, a knowing grin split his face, and she could suddenly hear his clear baritone rise in song above everyone else's.

Only a few patrons toward the back of the church noticed the door opening during the second verse, but those who did, looked upon the visitor with extreme surprise, for it was none other than the school teacher, Miss Lisbon, and wasn't she a Catholic? Teresa made her way down the far aisle until she found the deputy. She sat in the empty place beside him, and waited for him to notice her. When he did, his eyes went round as saucers.

"Wayne," she whispered. "Where is Mr. Jane?"

"Jane?" he whispered back.

"Yes. He didn't come home last night, and I know he read a certain telegraph. I fear he's done something…desperate."

"Shit," he said, then his hand flew to his mouth when he remembered where he was. His mother beside him rapped him firmly on the knee with her hymnal.

"Ow! I'm sorry, Mother," he whispered near her ear. "Police business. I have to go." He kissed the stunned woman on the cheek.

"Wayne Rigsby—" she sputtered, but by then he had followed Teresa back down the aisle to the exit. The song ended with a flourish of the pipe organ, just as the door closed behind them. That's when the gossiping whispers began, and Mrs. Rigsby tried very hard not to melt into the pew in embarrassment. Grace looked on with concern and tried without much luck to focus as the minister continued his sermon.

Outside on the church steps, Rigsby gallantly took Teresa's arm and led her to a shade tree.

"When was the last time you saw him?" Rigsby asked, in deputy mode now.

"Yesterday afternoon. But Kimball told me he was in the saloon until ten."

Rigsby was befuddled. "I escorted him out of the saloon and watched him heading back toward your place. If something happened to him, it must have been between the saloon and home. Let's retrace his steps, shall we?" He began walking back toward the center of town.

"You think something happened to him, don't you? Well, if something does, I blame you for letting him see that telegram, stirring up his vengeful ambition. Lord help me, Wayne Rigsby, if I had my ruler-"

He couldn't help cringing in remembrance of being slapped on the knuckles for various infractions of schoolhouse rules. At least she hadn't grabbed hold of his ear and twisted; he'd always hated that.

"Miss Lisbon, you have no proof Red John had anything to do with this. I simply told him that the Wells Fargo was arriving tomorrow morning and—"he snapped his fingers—"the bank! That's it! I'll wager he went sniffing around the bank. Maybe a night guard caught him."

"Well, wouldn't he be in the jailhouse then?" inquired Lisbon, having to nearly jog to keep up with Rigsby's long-legged gait.

"Not unless Mills decided to take care of Jane himself," he said, referring to the bank owner.

Teresa caught his arm to stop him. "You think he'd hurt him?"

"Only if he felt he had cause," Rigsby said. Teresa didn't find that to be very reassuring. "We'll find him, don't you worry, ma'am."

No one was at the bank, nor was anyone home at the bank owner's house a block over from the bank, so said the butler. But he would give them no further information, even when threatened with the law.

"They're likely at church," reasoned Rigsby, staring at the closed door. "You know which one they attend?"

"No," said Teresa dejectedly.

"Did you and Jane have some sort of a spat? 'Cause he sure seemed like he was tryin' to kill time at Kimball's."

Teresa blushed and said, "Not a spat, exactly. But I don't think he would have just left his things. He wants Red John. That telegram mentioned he robs Wells Fargo wagons, and then you tell him one will be at the bank tomorrow. You had to know he'd try to be there for that, try to find a way to take Red John by surprise. I know that's why he's in Sacramento…"

"He said he would stay out of it. I only told him to reassure him we would get that murderin' thief."

Teresa rolled her eyes. "He's a swindler, Wayne, and the murder of his family is a fine motivation for going after him on his own."

"Look, I know you're worried, but there are still a few more places to look around town. Just go on home, Miss Lisbon, in case he comes back there. I'll stop in later to tell you what I find out."

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She felt like a megrim was coming on. "All right, Wayne. But you stay out of trouble too, you hear?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a grin, then tipped his hat and walked in the direction of the downtown area. Teresa trudged back home, her spirits low. Halfway there, however, she began to run, hope suddenly swelling in her breast that maybe Jane was waiting for her at home.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Jane awoke again, the room was considerably lighter, and he could hear the sound of distant church bells. Sunday morning. What must Teresa be thinking? He imagined her waking and finding him gone, maybe going into his bedroom and noting he hadn't slept in his bed last night. He'd left things cold and distant between them, and he regretted avoiding her now very much. If Red John had him killed, she would never know how much their time by the river had meant to him, how she had made him feel something other than hatred and anguish for the first time in two years. She would be left thinking that he hadn't really wanted her, or maybe that he'd been using her. True, he'd felt selfish the moment her delicate hand had released him, but he knew now he wanted her for more than that. He wanted to see where their relationship could go. He only hoped he could get out of this alive to tell her so.

Jane managed to sit up, despite the binding rope round his hands and feet, and propped himself against a wall, nearly crying aloud as the back of his sore head made contact. He could see now that he was in the small, back room of a building, obviously some sort of storage area. Cabinets lined the walls and sheaves of papers were stacked on top. It was stale and musty with only narrow slits of windows near the ceiling of one wall.

He'd tried and failed throughout the night to loosen his bonds, but only managed to rub his wrists and ankles raw. Now that he could see his prison more clearly, he hoped to be able to find something he could use to cut through the rope. He could see nothing but paper and more paper, but then his eyes alighted on a table in a corner of the room.

He spied belongings from his pockets that the outlaws had removed and tossed upon the table, no doubt looking for weapons that they did not find. His pocket watch was missing, however, as was his money, but he could just make out the crumpled papers he knew were receipts from the laundress and the stables, and a familiar brown bottle labeled "The Elixir of Relief and Comfort." He laughed to himself. It was his remedy for constipation, containing mainly prune and cherry juices. Before he'd dropped off his pony cart, he'd restocked his pockets in case he had the opportunity to make a sale. He'd sold an "Elixir of Love" last night to a young man who blushed whenever he beheld a certain prostitute at Kimball's, but he'd had no requests for the relief of problems of the water closet. Apparently, the outlaws had no use for it either, much to his good fortune.

With a determined grin, the effect of which was contorted by the gag he wore, Jane began scooting himself across the smooth floor on his behind, inching his way awkwardly toward the table. When he got there, he listened intently for sounds or voices that might indicate his captors were nearby. He only heard silence now that the bells had stopped chiming. So, they'd left him there without food or drink? Jane supposed that shouldn't be surprising. Red John and his gang had other more important things to worry about.

With that thought in mind, Jane kicked the leg of the table and hastily moved out of the way as the bottle fell to the floor…and bounced. _Shit. _It hadn't shattered into several useful cutting tools as he had hoped. With a sigh, he turned around so his bound hands could reach for the neck of the bottle. Once he had it in his grip, he stilled to listen again. Nothing. Resolutely, he began banging the bottle upon the hard wooden floor.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The front door was unlocked, and Teresa, heart pounding, opened it to find Patrick Jane, standing at the kitchen sink, drinking a tall glass of water. She stood transfixed as the water ran in rivulets down his bare throat, wetting his half-open shirt and smooth chest. He turned and opened his eyes, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Good morning, Miss Lisbon," he said pleasantly, his chest heaving as if he'd been running.

She could have said a hundred things, from asking where he'd been, demanding why he had stayed out all night, begging him to tell her if yesterday had meant as much to him as it had to her. But for once in her life, Teresa followed her heart, and ran to him, pulling his head down for a deep, welcoming kiss.

Jane was taken off guard at first, still breathless from his escape from what he soon saw was the lawyer's office next to Mills Bank. He had run through the alleyway, expecting at any moment to be stopped by an outlaw's bullet. He'd run until he'd reached the front door of the boarding house, hastily lifting the flower pot and finding the key. And now, Teresa was in his arms, her mouth fused to his, and he pulled her even closer, his hands untying the red ribbon to fill them with her soft sable curls. She moaned into his mouth, and he devoured her sweet lips until he had to move away to catch his breath.

They were both breathing heavily now, and Teresa lay her cheek against his wet shirt, listening to the strong pounding of his heart while he caressed her back and played with her hair, her head tucked beneath his chin.

"What happened?" she finally asked. "When you didn't come home, I was…concerned. And why do you smell of prunes?"she finished, wrinkling her nose.

He chuckled and stepped back to look at her, his hands on her upper arms. "That's a long story. But more importantly, you were worried about me?" he asked, his heart leaping at her words, his eyes searching hers.

"Yes," she blushed. "Yesterday, when you left, I thought…well, I thought you'd had your fill of me and were moving on. Then, when you didn't come back to retrieve your things, I confess I looked in your room. I found the telegram Deputy Rigsby gave you. I've been trying to find you."

"Aw," he said in understanding, dropping his hands. He moved to get a dishtowel, wiping her damp face, then dabbing at his throat.

"I talked to Wayne," Teresa continued. "He's been out looking for you too." Her eyes fell to his wrists, and she caught sight of the rope burns and cut fingers. She gasped. "What happened to your hands?"

"That's part of that long story I mentioned," he shrugged, smiling that charming grin of his. But he wasn't going to wiggle his way out of talking this time.

She moved past him to the sink, and began to pump the handle, then reached out to pull Jane's hands beneath the cold water. He hissed in pain, but she grabbed the soap and began to clean his wounds.

"Well, you'd better start talking, peddler man, and I want the absolute truth, or I'll beat it out of you, understand?"

"Yes, Miss Lisbon," he said sheepishly, but his eyes still sparkled at her teacherly tone. He grew suddenly serious. "I'll tell you everything, but I can't stay here for long. I'm putting you in danger now just by being here. You see, I've got a serious problem I need to solve, and I don't have very much time to solve it in."

She looked up from her task, shaking her head in resignation. "I just knew you were trouble the moment I saw you."

"That's funny," he replied with a smirk, "I thought the same thing about you."

A/N: You may be thinking—_well, that was easy._ But not so fast! Jane's escape will just complicate things further, I promise. Thanks for reading, and I would look kindly upon your reviews. (Gee, I'm even starting to talk like I'm from 1870, lol). Oh, and please remember to post in English. I'm afraid my high school Spanish has been mostly forgotten after twenty-five years.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: This is the third chapter I've posted within a week, so if you are behind, you might want to catch up before you read this one. What can I say? I'm on a roll. It's funny how Rigsby seems to have taken over this story, lol. Hope you don't mind. We don't see enough of him on the show, so I've had fun fleshing him out a bit here. More running around for everyone in this supersized chapter, but I'm building up to something big, I promise. And watch out for the ending—it's rated "M".

**Chapter 9**

Jane was relating his brief tale of abduction, as he and Teresa sat in the parlor, holding hands on the settee. Their teacups sat on the table before them, along with the half-empty bottle of headache powder. As he'd spoken to her, he would suddenly trail off as the morning sun shone in on her eyes, briefly captivating him as they sparkled like emeralds. He felt at once compelled to bring her hand up for a kiss, noting how her pulse raced every time his mouth touched her skin.

Despite everything that had happened with Red John, and everything that was yet to come, Jane was feeling almost drunk with the new feelings she was arousing in him. He was amazed to discover that he was actually…happy. He didn't quite know what to make of that.

"When they figure out I've escaped, they'll be after me for sure," he concluded. "I recognized their secret helper—well, not so secret anymore."

"And you're sure it was the lawyer, Craig O'laughlin?" she asked, distracted as he brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. She hadn't tied it back again, and she was happy to let him keep playing with it, wrapping a loose curl round his fingers, smoothing it down and absently repeating the process.

"Yes, I'm certain. He must be taking a portion of the plunder for hiding the gang right in town beneath the sheriff's nose."

He was quiet a moment, and she squeezed his hand. "How was it, then?" she asked softly. "Seeing Red John like that?"

He sighed and looked away. Truth be told, he'd felt a bit relieved. The man wasn't a monster, as he'd built up in his mind, although what he'd done was monstrous. He was just a demented, thieving killer, and someone ought to put him down like a rabid dog. If Jane had his way, that someone was still going to be him.

He kissed her knuckles again, amazed that she had picked up on his turbulent emotions. "He didn't even know who I was, or even seemed to understand that I wanted him dead. In some ways, it was quite the let down; a real blow to my pride." He smiled a little at his own musings.

"Vengeance only hurts the vengeful," she reminded him. "What better illustration could there be than that?"

"Teresa—"

"No, listen. We can tell Wayne all of this. They can capture Red John now before he even tries for the gold. You don't have to put yourself in danger now. Please, Patrick," she implored, both of them taken off guard by her sudden vehemence, "stay away from him. He'll kill you, like he told you he would. He'll—"

He silenced her with his mouth, her lips trembling with emotion beneath his. He held her face with his hands, his fingers sliding once again into her silky hair as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. He didn't want her to be afraid for him, but he didn't know a way to tell her that killing Red John was so much a part of who he was now that he couldn't just let it go. So he pushed her onto her back almost roughly, laying on top of her, ravaging her mouth and cupping her breasts through her modest dress, willing her to understand that while he no longer had a choice, part of him—an ever hardening part of him—wanted her so much it was jumbling up his priorities.

Rigsby must have had to knock several times before the enraptured couple finally heard and broke apart, lungs heaving.

Teresa smoothed her hair and went to the door, wiping her moist lips with shaking fingers. Jane adjusted himself where he sat, damning the innocent deputy who appeared in the open doorway. Rigsby looked from Lisbon's flushed face to her free flowing hair, then to Jane's comfortable place on the settee, understanding resulting in his own reddened cheeks. Teresa invited him inside, hastily closing the door behind them.

"Jane," Rigsby said cautiously. "What happened to you last night?"

Jane told his story again while Teresa brought Rigsby some tea, and the young man listened with rapt attention. When Jane got to the part about Craig O'laughlin, however, Rigsby sprung from his chair with such force that he nearly knocked it over.

"I'll kill the bastard! That son of a whore!"

"Wayne!" said Teresa, shocked at his language.

"I'm sorry, Miss Lisbon, but that ass—that _villain_—has been shamelessly courting Grace Bertram! With the mayor's consent! Why, only day before yesterday, he was eating dinner in their house! To think Grace might be in danger from that, that—" he couldn't think of any clean words to call O'laughlin, so his voice trailed off in anger. "I'm gonna kill him with my bare hands, I tell ya!"

"I understand your anger, deputy," Jane said calmly, "but let's step back and think about this. If you haul off and arrest O'laughlin, the hold-up tomorrow will be thwarted, and Red John and his gang will hightail it outta town before you get the chance to capture them. I say, let the wagon arrive as scheduled, let them try to rob it, but we'll be ready and waitin' for 'em."

"It might already be called off as it is," Rigsby suggested, returning to his seat. "Since you've escaped, and you've seen the whole gang, they might not want to risk your telling the law about them."

He had a point. Jane closed his eyes a moment, head in hand, the tendrils of a plan starting to take shap. He looked up a minute later at Rigsby and Teresa, his face beaming. "We make it look like I've left town, then. I'll leave the boarding house, hide my wagon, hide _myself_ somewhere else. They'll think they scared me off. Plus, you gotta mention this in front of O'laughlin so he can report back to Red John. You think you could find a way to do that?"

Rigsby's mind was working to consider all possible angles and consequences of this plan of Jane's. "I'm sure I could find a way to let O'laughlin know…but there still seem to be some loose ends here—mainly the question of whether to tell the sheriff what we know. I'd sure have a lot of explainin' to do, and damned if I could lose my job over this. Uh, pardon me, Miss Lisbon."

"But you'll need help getting this gang, Wayne," Teresa said. "You can't do this alone. You have to tell."

"One of Red John's men said something about Stockton police coming tomorrow," said Jane. "That have something to do with the telegram?"

"Yeah, and the arrival of the Wells Fargo wagon."

"Huh," Jane said in surprise. "I didn't think the sheriff was taking any of those warnings seriously. He didn't even flinch when I told him what Red John had done to my family."

"LaRoche can be very unpredictable and hard to get a bead on-try workin' under him," Rigsby said wryly. "But what you said may have had an effect on him after all. That may be why he telegraphed Stockton to send more men."

"Or the mayor has been pressuring him," Teresa said derisively. Both men looked at her in wonder.

"He's running for re-election soon," she continued. "I know how politics works, gentlemen. He doesn't want a crime like that happening under his watch; it'd be all over the papers from here to San Francisco, then Mayor Betram can say good-bye to that pretty new house on the hill he built."

"Why Miss Lisbon," said Jane with an amused smirk, "you're awfully worldly for such a proper young school teacher."

She raised an eyebrow. "Thank you, Mr. Jane, but I'm not quite so young anymore." _Nor so proper,_ she added to herself. When Jane looked at her, it was as if he'd heard her unspoken thought.

Their eyes locked and held as they smiled at each other with complete understanding. Rigsby finally had to clear his throat to refocus their attention.

"All right then,"Rigsby continued, picking up the original strand of the conversation. "Sounds like we're agreed that LaRoche should be kept in the dark and that you, Mr. Jane, should go into hiding. I've got an idea about that. Give me about half an hour, then take my horse and ride around the city. Ride to the back of Cho's saloon. He's got a room back there that would be a perfect place for you to lay low until this is all over. I'll take care of your pony cart and O'lauglin." He tried and failed not to sneer at the use of the traitor's name.

Jane looked from Rigsby to Teresa, pleased with the plan. Of course, he thought regretfully, it was probably wise not to point out that there was no way in hell that he wouldn't be there when that gold arrived in the morning. Rigsby rose and Jane escorted him to the door.

"I'd best be on my way. They could discover you're missing any time now. They might already be watching this house."

"Be careful, Wayne," said Teresa, picking up their empty teacups and taking the tray into the kitchen.

"Yes, ma'am." When she was out of the room, Rigsby's voice dropped to a whisper. He reached into his left holster. "You got a gun, Jane?"

"No."

"Take this. If Red John catches up to you, at least you might have a fightin' chance."

Jane was hesitant; he didn't care for guns much, although he did have a rifle for hunting and snake killing. It was currently in the back of his wagon, however. He put the borrowed six-shooter in his coat pocket.

"Thanks. And you watch out for Miss Lisbon, you hear? When they find I've escaped, they may come here lookin' for me. I'll try to get her to leave, but you know how stubborn she is."

Rigsby grinned. "That I do. I'll do what I can to protect her. I'll see you in a bit."

Jane nodded at him, unbelievably grateful that for once, he wasn't in this alone. "Thanks, Rigsby."

"Hey, I want the bastard too, Jane. And as God is my witness, O'laughlin ain't gettin' away with his part in this either." The wild, angry glint in Rigsby's eye was like Jane was looking in the mirror.

He shut and locked the door behind the deputy, then turned back to where Teresa stood, looking at him with that familiar crease in her forehead. He walked over to her and took her hands in his, then leaned down to gently kiss her lips.

"Everything's gonna be fine, Teresa. Rigsby seems to have everything under control."

"Perhaps, but there are still so many things that could go wrong."

"Stop thinkin' that way; it'll do no good to get all worked up about this. But when I leave, I want you to go to a friend's house, somewhere you can stay the night."

She thought about this a moment. "I'll be fine. I have my daddy's gun, and you'll have cleared out of here."  
>"Teresa, how can I hide out while I'm worried they might show up here and harm you? Please, do this for me."<p>

She considered his request a moment, looking up into his eyes, their color like a storm- tossed sea. "I'll do it," she replied, then her lips tightened in satisfaction. "If you'll keep a promise to me and stay at Kimball's until Red John is captured."

He smiled in admiration. "Why that's blackmail, ma'am."

"Yes it is," she said without shame.

"I guess you leave me with little choice," he said with a sigh.

"Good. That's settled then."

"There's only one more question left, however," he said, slowly lowering his face until his lips hovered above hers.

"What's that?" she whispered.

"How do we kill time for the next thirty minutes?"

"You've proven very resourceful, Mr. Jane. I'm sure you'll think of something." And she went up on tiptoe to meet his seeking lips.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rigsby had a lot to accomplish in half an hour. First, he made his way to Cho's, where he found the man diligently sweeping the floor. He drew him aside and briefly related what was going on, and asked if Jane could stay in the back of the saloon. Cho was quick to agree, happy to help any way he could. He went back right away to unlock the back door and prepare for his visitor.

Then, Rigsby went to the stables where Jane's pony and cart were boarded.

"Mr. Jane asked me to take this to him down at Miss Lisbon's," he told McMullen, the blacksmith and proprietor. "He's leavin' town today."

"Oh?" said the man, his face weathered and permanently reddened by the heat of the forge. He didn't feel the need to mention the peddler had paid for another full day in advance; far be it for him to question the actions of a lawman. "His cart's stored in the barn, then, the pony in the corral. Help yourself, Deputy."

"Much obliged."

Rigsby hitched the pony to the cart and drove to his home, an old farmhouse on the outskirts of town where he still lived with his mother. His father had run off when he was thirteen, and Rigsby had been forced at that tender age to be the man of the house. Wherever his father was now, he hoped he was suffering for leaving them alone and in debt. As far as Rigsby was concerned, the man was dead to him now.

He made quick work of hiding the cart in his neatly tended barn, and setting the pony free in his own corral. He suddenly remembered that his mother would need a ride home from church, so he saddled his other horse and rode it back into town. He'd left his phaeton in the churchyard earlier when he'd retrieved his horse, and he hitched his gray to the small wagon. He stood a moment, removing his black hat and wiping his brow, nearly tuckered out after running around all over creation. But Rigsby's heart was swelling with importance. He would see to it that the townspeople were safe, that Red John and his gang were killed or captured, and that Craig O'laughlin would swing on the end of a rope for the deceiving blackguard he was.

He'd timed things nearly perfectly, for just as he finished his work, a few parishioners began trickling out of the church's wide double doors and down the steps. He nodded and tipped his hat at the ladies, then his eyes narrowed as Grace came out, escorted by the devil's own minion. He approached the pair, and Grace was startled by the determined look on Wayne Rigsby's face.

"You and Miss Lisbon caused quite a scene in the chapel earlier," said O'laughlin, trying to make light of it. "Everything all right?" Rigsby sensed the man was fishing for information, which he was now more than happy to supply.

Rigsby avoided Grace's eyes, fearing she'd distract him from his mission. "It seems that peddler man, Patrick Jane, ran off last night without paying his board to Miss Lisbon. She was hoping I might be able to track him down before he left town. I checked McMullen's, and the man said Jane came in quite a hurry early this morning, took his wagon and left like the devil himself was after him."

Rigsby watched as a brief flicker of emotion crossed the lawyer's face, then was expertly tamped down. _The man was one cool customer_, thought Rigsby.

"Well, I certainly feel for Miss Lisbon, being swindled by that two-bit scoundrel. Please tell her I'd be happy to represent her, should the law bring him in."

"I'll do that," Rigsby responded tonelessly. His eyes flickered over Grace, concern for their former teacher shadowing her beautiful features.

"I'm sorry to hear of this too, Deputy. I met Mr. Jane. He seemed very charming."

"That's how those charlatans are, that's how they draw people in," he said to Grace, looking down on her and using a slightly patronizing tone that raised Rigsby's hackles even further. "Personally, I'm glad to see him gone, considering all the trouble he's already caused this town. Too bad for Miss Lisbon's purse, however, but I guess that's what you get for taking strangers into your home."

Grace looked for a moment immensely displeased with her suitor, but she covered it up quickly with a bright smile. "There's Daddy," she said, looking at the church steps again, where Mayor Betram continued his glad-handing on his way out. Rigsby's mother's appeared too, shaking hands with the minister in the doorway.

"Well, good day to you, Deputy," O'laughlin said dismissively, guiding Grace back to meet her father. Grace looked over her shoulder, mouthing the word, "Sorry,"as she was led away.

Rigsby smiled gently at her, putting all the love his could muster into his eyes. Hers widened, then softened as well, and then she was lost in the crowd. Rigsby stared bleakly after her a moment, then hastened up the stairs to escort his mother down, not looking forward to the bawling out he'd get on the ride home. She took his arm stiffly, and he felt her anger mount again with every step down they took. At the bottom of the stairs, Mayor Betram was raising his voice to be heard.

"As I had the reverend announce earlier during the service, I expect you all to be at Mills Bank tomorrow morning, as we welcome the arrival of the Wells Fargo wagon. It's yet another sign that our fair city is flourishing, and that if Wells Fargo, such a respected company, has enough faith to bring its business to Sacramento, imagine all the other businesses that may see fit to settle here. Please, spread the word, and I'll see you Monday morning!"

There was excited applause and Rigsby looked on in surprise. He caught sight of O'laughlin. He was only halfheartedly applauding, and Rigsby knew he must not be too happy with this unforeseen development. Here was a new fly in the ointment, for all of them.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Night fell, with no news or stirrings from Red John or his gang. Jane paced back and forth in his newest prison, feeling like one of the lions he'd known in its cage at the circus. Cho had told him he slept here sometimes when he was too tired or too drunk to walk home, but Jane could tell that not much time was actually spent here. It was furnished simply with only a small cot and a table with an oil lamp and no window. Rigsby had dropped by earlier, bringing him some cold biscuits and ham he'd saved from his Sunday dinner.

He could leave at any time, he knew, since his room housed the door to the alley, but he wanted to stick to the plan as much as possible. He missed Teresa though, worried despite Rigsby's reassurances that all was well and that she had told him she was staying with her brother in his home two miles outside of town. He should get some sleep, after the trauma of the night before, but he was too worked up to even try. He dug the journal he kept from his carpetbag and began to take down his thoughts about the last few days, his hopes for tomorrow. The muffled clinking piano and occasional feminine laughter served as background noise as he wrote.

When the light scratching came at the door, he was startled enough to grab Rigsby's gun, moving quietly to the door. "Who's there?" he demanded in a low voice.

"It's me," said Teresa Lisbon. He hid the weapon in his bag and unbarred the door.

"What the hell are you doing here? I was hit over the head in this very alley last night. Are you out of your mind, woman?"

"I'm fine," she said. "I brought a little token with me, compliments of Mr. Deringer." She held up her reticule and he could see the outline of the tiny, single-shot pistol within. Jane looked up at her in something akin to awe. "A woman can't be too cautious these days," she concluded, smiling at his dumbfounded expression.

He peeked outside a moment, seeing if she'd been followed, then shut and barred the door again. Aside from her miniature arsenal, she also held a willow basket over one arm. "I brought you a few things," she was saying, looking around the Spartan room in disapproval, "which I see you will certainly need."

She set the basket on the table and pulled out a small jar of cool tea, some bread, cheese, fruit, and an extra quilt. "It gets chilly here at night," she explained. She also laid out a book with the intriguing title, _Twenty-thousand Leagues Under the Sea._

Jane watched her in silence, still a little taken aback, but touched that she was even here, that she had so carefully thought of his needs. "I would have brought you a pot for hot tea, but Wayne said there was no fire source in here. I guess it will do for one night, then you'll be back at home in the comfort of your own bed. I mean, back at the boarding house, that is." She blushed prettily, and at that moment, Jane felt like he'd been hit on the head for the fourth time that week.

_I'm in love with her_, he realized. _I'm in love with this stubborn, passionate woman who has me completely and utterly pole axed. This isn't good. Not good at all._

She saw he was frowning, and totally misunderstood why. "I'm sorry. I've been prattling on and I've probably overstepped as well. I'll just leave you to your"-she noticed the journal, open and face down on his bed—"writing." She was already at the door by the time he found his tongue.

"Wait! I thought you said you'd be at your brother's," he said awkwardly, his voice cracking a bit in his nervousness.

"I was going to, but I didn't want to put them out. Besides, Meggie's got a head cold—that's their little one—and well, I'm just more comfortable in my own home."

_I __**can't **__love her. I still love my wife. I'll __**always **__love my wife._

He was staring at her again, and she was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. "Mr. Jane?" she prompted, hoping to awaken him from his daze. "Patrick," she amended. "Are you quite all right? Is your head hurting?"

"A little," he managed, shaking his head as if to clear it.

"I forgot to bring your headache powder. I'll just run home and—"

"No!" and he grabbed her arm, then loosened his grip immediately when she flinched.

_I love her._

His voice grew thicker with the effort to conceal his emotions. "Don't go out again. Gun or not, it's dangerous out there. Stay here," he breathed, seeming to mesmerize her with his eyes. He slowly drew her closer, and he moved his lips to her cheek, then lightly encircled the shell of her ear with his tongue.

_I love her._

"Stay with me," he whispered. She shivered in his arms, and his hands slid up to her shoulders to steady them both.

He loved her, and now that he was holding her again, any doubts he'd had about his feelings were quickly fading away with the feel of her warmth beneath his hands, beneath his lips. He kissed his way down her neck, inhaling cinnamon and the faint smell of lilacs. She was feeling dizzy with anticipation, with the heat that was rising within her at what he was asking of her.

"Teresa?" he murmured against her other ear. He wanted an answer. She knew if she refused him he would stop immediately, but she didn't want him to stop. Just like on that blanket beneath the trees, she couldn't deny him anything.

"Yes," she said, her heart hammering. "I'll stay."

All he had to offer her was a narrow cot in the back room of a saloon, not much better than yesterday by the river, but he didn't want to run the risk of dying tomorrow, having never experienced the joy of having the woman he loved lying naked beneath him. After two years of self-denial, he would make love to a woman that was not his wife, and he suddenly felt a sense of peace about it.

He lifted her wrist then, grinning wryly as he removed the loop of ribbon from around it, gingerly placing her purse with its hidden weapon on the table beside the bread and cheese.

"Don't want this to go off in the middle of things," he chuckled softly, and she smiled in return as he kissed her bare wrist, his tongue gliding over her pulse point as he looked at her with smoldering eyes.

He began removing her shawl, then her bodice, his fingers nimble and quick as he released each button, his eyes never leaving hers. He was delighted to find that she wore no corset today—not that she really needed one—and when he revealed her low cut chemise, he bent to lay his head on her lace covered breasts, holding her tightly against him. Her hands dropped to his hair, and he felt her kiss on top of his tousled head. His hands wandered to her lower back, and he began to unbutton her skirt and remove her bustle in efficient movements. He held her shaking hand to help her step out of the skirt, and she stood before him, in only the light undergarment, stockings and low boots. His hands went to his shirt.

"Let me," she said, and began undressing him. He experienced the true meaning of patience as he watched her take off his vest and shirt and carelessly toss them on the floor. Her movements became almost frantic until he helpfully toed off his boots, allowing her to remove his trousers. Finally, he stood before her in his drawers and nothing else. _Now what? _She almost asked aloud. He smiled, reading her mind again.

"Sit on the bed," he directed softly. She complied, happy to get off legs that had partly turned to jelly. He unhooked the fasteners of her boots, then slid his hand up her silk covered legs, thinking he'd leave her stockings on at the sensuous thought of her wrapping them around his waist. With one more questioning glance, to which she nodded her assent, he reached for the hem of her chemise and pulled it completely over her head, loosening the red ribbon as he did so. Her heavy fall of hair settled around her small, firm breasts, and he gasped aloud at the vision she made. He drank her all in, from the tips of her breasts to her tiny waist, slim, yet shapely hips and thighs.

"I've imagined you this way," he said, delighted as he watched the progress of her delicate flush from her face down to her chest and beyond. She leaned slightly forward so that her hair hid her face.

"You've imagined me…?" she whispered shyly. He reached over to lift up her chin so he could see her lovely, embarrassed face. He kissed the corner of her mouth.

"Every moment since I met you," he said sincerely, his heart in his eyes. She reached out a tentative hand to his bare chest, and he trembled with need. Smiling at her newfound power, both small hands came forward to glide over his muscular arms, then to trace his chest again, then lower, until he growled and pushed her back on the cot, covering her with his mouth and with his body.

His hands and lips seemed suddenly to be everywhere, as if he wanted to consume every inch of her. He made himself slow down and savor this, starting with her breasts and working his way down to the apex of her thighs. He sat up and touched her there, and the sound of her breathing was loud in the small room. He parted her legs and kneeled at the end of the bed, sliding her toward him and watching her face when she realized in shock what he was about to do. He didn't give her time to think before he lowered his mouth and found her with his tongue. He had to hold her hips down as she raised them instinctively, and he nearly laughed at her innocent reaction. Then they were both caught up in the erotic sensation as he swirled his tongue around her, within her, kissing her there with the same passion as he'd kissed her mouth.

Her thighs were shaking and he knew by her jerky movements and hoarse cries that she was close, so he picked up the pace, licking her in long strokes until she turned her head and screamed her release into the pillow. He watched as she rode it out, awed by her uninhibited response, then he kissed the inside of each smooth thigh and stood to take off his drawers. She looked up to see him, eyes widening at the beauty of this man, yet still a little frightened at what she knew would happen next.

Jane smiled at her reassuringly, watching as she scooted slowly back up to the head of the bed, her expression so open he could practically see her preparing mentally and physically for what was yet to come. He climbed onto the narrow cot, thankful that it sat on a wooden platform, for he was about to test the limits of its construction. He held himself above her, not wanting to startle her with the hardness of his body while he kissed her lips tenderly, seductively.

She became increasingly impatient, and she pulled him down to settle completely on top of her, both moaning at how good it felt, skin against skin. Her hands skimmed his well-defined back, and he panted into her neck as his erection settled against her slick heat. He didn't know how much more of this he could take, when all he wanted to do was slide into her, bury himself inside until he couldn't tell where he began and she ended. So when her knees bent and her silky thighs cradled him, he found himself on the very edge of his control.

"I'll try to make this good for you, I promise," he said. "Are you ready? Oh God…_please_ be ready," he groaned. She surprised him with a small laugh at his impatience. He removed his head from the sweet crook of her neck to look at her face, her eyes sparkling now with sudden, incongruous humor. He found himself smiling in return.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, reaching down to guide himself inside.

"Oh," she breathed, as he hit the barrier of her virginity. He smoothed the hair back from her face with a shaking hand, then kissed her at the same time he pushed all the way through, swallowing her sudden cry with his mouth.

"You all right?"

"Yes," she said, panting as the pain swiftly faded.

He lay still as she adjusted to him, and then slowly, he began to move. Later, Teresa would think back and admire his restraint as Jane took his time with her, allowing her to become used to his movements, hearing their combined moans fill the air as he pulled almost all the way out, then slid slowly back home. She rose up to meet him, finding his rhythm, until she began bucking against him in her sudden desire for an increase in tempo. Just like in his imagination, her legs wrapped around his waist, and he finally stopped holding back.

She was at first shocked at the ferocity of his passion, but she was soon matching him stroke for stroke, his own pleasure only increasing hers as he clung to her, murmuring endearments in her hair. Just as she felt him reaching his own precipice, Teresa's vision went black, and she saw flashes of colored light. Jane felt her body tightening around him, compelling him to plunge over the edge along with her, saying her name over and over as he fell.

A/N: So, was it good for you? LOL. I think that was probably the longest love scene I've ever written. Excuse me while I fetch a cigarette. Next chapter, everyone tries to stick to their plans, even Red John. Please review and let me know how I'm doing. Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: I guess that love scene pleased more than just Jane and Lisbon, lol. Thanks so much for your words of appreciation. This chapter didn't take me as far as I had hoped, but there's still some good stuff here for you I think, especially if you are a Rigspelt fan. But there's plenty of Jisbon, and some Red John madness too. Enjoy! ;)

**Chapter 10**

Rigsby felt restless, and Monday morning seemed a million years away. He sat in the saloon for awhile, barely touching his whiskey, losing the one hand of poker he'd played, and refusing the offer of Miss Madeleine's bleached blond girl, Sophie. It was only a redhead he was thinking of now, and none of his usual pastimes could possibly put out the fire of his anger toward Craig O'laughlin. It was all he could do not to track the man down and beat his ever-loving head in.

To keep himself occupied, he'd checked on Jane earlier, brought him dinner, so he knew the peddler was safely ensconced in the back room. He was still running around in his mind all the different scenarios that might occur the next day, and it got so convoluted he almost went to confess to LaRoche. _Almost_. Rigsby liked being a deputy and had dreams of becoming sheriff one day. Telling LaRoche the myriad ways he had bent the law lately would not be a good way of realizing that dream.

Instead, he sat at the bar and watched his friend Cho work, pouring cowmen whiskey after whiskey until he thought he might die of the monotony.

"Refill?" Cho asked. Rigsby looked down. Turns out he _had_ finished his shot; he must have done it while preoccupied with his troubling thoughts.

"Nah, I think I'll go out and patrol a bit."

"Watch out for train robbers and lawyers," said Cho, deadpan.

"And you watch out for certain peddlers," Rigsby replied meaningfully, his eyebrows comically raised.

The night was pleasantly warm, and Rigsby took a turn around Main Street, then ventured into the alleyway, hand on his gun. He saw nothing suspicious, so he began to walk in a direction he tried to convince himself was totally random. When he arrived on the street where the mayor's mansion was, he told himself it was only a coincidence that his boots had directed him there. He climbed up the tree-lined hill to the sidewalk to the impressive new home.

He looked up longingly at the bedrooms still lit up on the second floor. He scanned each room with the hope that he might discover which one belonged to Grace. Rigsby would give anything to be up there with her, kissing her, holding her, taking her to bed instead of one of the two-bit floozies he was used to. Grace was so pure, so refined—all that her very name implied-and he loved her with all that he was, all that he had. The problem was, Wayne Rigsby didn't have much.

As he was staring up at a likely room on the south side of the house, he literally took a step back when he saw his fair maiden at the window. She pulled the white lace curtains all the way closed, but not before he saw that she was wearing a frilly pink shift and a matching wrapper. Her bright red hair hung down unencumbered to her waist, just like she used to wear it when they were kids.

Rigsby practically dove behind a tree, breathing hard at both the sight of her and the possibility that she might have seen him. But it was very dark in the side yard, and he reassured himself that she hadn't caught sight of him, because there had come no yells of _Peeping Tom_. He stood a minute, his back to the tree, then very slowly eased his head around to look up at the window. The light was out, and other lights had been extinguished too, so that now the entire house stood in darkness.

He wasn't sure why at first, but he waited. Twenty minutes. Half an hour. By then, Rigsby realized he was waiting for everyone to go to sleep. He smiled to himself. At the same time, his heart was racing. _It will be like old times,_ he thought, and he felt around on the ground for some small stones.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Grace couldn't sleep, so after several minutes of tossing and turning, she lay in bed, thinking about Wayne Rigsby and feeling hopeless and trapped. No elixir or wishful thinking was going to make her stop loving him, and every time she saw him, she became increasingly unhappy with her lot in life. She sighed and closed her eyes again, only to be bombarded by images of a tall, dark-haired man who looked at her like she made the world spin.

When she'd first heard the faint taps on her window, she thought it might be rain. As the sound grew more insistent, she thought it might be the wind blowing a tree limb against the glass. When the tapping started almost to sound desperate, she smiled with delight and rushed to the window, drawing aside the curtains. She squinted down into the moonlit grove of walnut trees, and saw a flash of a white shirt and an even whiter grin as the man only recently occupying her thoughts stood looking up at her window as if she'd conjured him there. She pushed up her window as quietly as she could and had to move quickly to dodge a tiny pebble.

"Wayne Rigsby!" she hissed, leaning out so he was sure to see her. "Stop throwing rocks at me!"

She heard his surprised bark of laughter. "Grace? Sorry, I couldn't see you," came his amused whisper.

They regarded each other in the moonlight, taken back in time when they were two years younger and desperately in love. Two years later, and desperation had turned more to resignation, that as much as they loved each other, it just wasn't meant to be.

"What are you doing here?" Grace finally asked him, her soft voice carrying down to him and making Rigsby shiver a little. God, he'd missed this.

"I needed to talk to you. About tomorrow morning."

"You mean the Wells Fargo arrival at the bank? I don't want to go, but my father insists."

"Please, think of some excuse—say you're ill. Just…don't go, all right?"

"But, why?"

He sighed and looked down at the darkness where his feet were. He longed to tell her what was going on, what had the potential to go wrong, but he wasn't sure where her loyalties lay. Would she run to her father, or worse, O'laughlin? When she'd left and had stopped responding to his letters, he'd lost more than the girl he loved; he'd lost his closest friend next to Cho, and it saddened him now to think he might not be able to trust her anymore.

"I can't tell you. You just have to trust me. Can you still do that?"

She regarded him a minute, and he wished he could see her expression. "Wait there," she said finally.

"Huh? What the hell are you doing? Grace!" Before his shocked gaze, she was suddenly climbing over her windowsill and shinnying down the big walnut tree. He ran to stand beneath her, cringing when she slipped a few times. He tried to be a gentleman and not notice how her shift slipped up to her thighs, and that she was no longer wearing the wrapper he'd seen her in earlier, but her white skin glowed in the moonlight, and he was a man after all. And she was climbing down to him like a wood nymph. A few frightened indrawn breaths later (Rigsby's, of course), and Grace hopped to the ground in front of him, grinning in satisfaction and smoothing down her shift.

"You are one crazy girl," he said in admiration. She reached for his hand and pulled him further beneath the trees out of sight of the second floor windows.

"Now we can talk without anyone overhearing," she said. Wayne could only stare, his heart in his throat that she was actually standing before him, all the ladylike airs she'd recently adopted slipping away to reveal the Grace he'd always known…and still loved.

"I wish I could tell you," he said. "But I'm afraid it's official police business."

It was even darker beneath the trees, but he could imagine one of her fine eyebrows shooting up as she caught him in this lie.

"I don't think so," she said, and he knew he'd been right about her reaction. "You want me to trust you, Wayne Rigsby, but you aren't telling me the whole truth."

She could always read him like a book. He sighed in resignation. "You ever heard of the outlaw they call Red John?"

"No."

"He's a train robber. Robs banks too. He killed the peddler, Patrick Jane's, wife and child—that's why he was here. Anyhow, Red John is in town, or at least, he was last night."

Grace gasped, feeling her eyes water at this information. "Oh, poor Mr. Jane! No wonder he got so distraught and left town."

"Well, it wasn't exactly like that." And like she was his confessor, he found himself telling her everything, from Jane's kidnapping to the plan to take the Red John gang by surprise in the morning. He only left out only one thing—O'laughlin's involvement.

Grace listened in awe, feeling proud of this man, who seemed to be juggling everything at once. But she was also very fearful of what the next day might bring.

"You have to tell the sheriff, Wayne."

"We thought about it, Jane, Cho, Miss Lisbon and I, and came to the conclusion that if LaRoche found out, he'd cancel the wagon's delivery and Red John would just slip away and on to the next town. We'd lose him. This way, we draw him out, and then we've got him. He won't know what hit him."

"But now my father's going to be there, and most of the townsfolk. People could get killed—innocent people."

Rigsby took off his hat and ran his hand through his short hair. "I know. But Stockton lawmen'll be there. They'll have men stationed on the rooftops, their best sharpshooters. Don't worry. They'll take Red John out with one shot."

"I'm frightened, Wayne," she whispered. "Frightened for you, and for my father. Please, be careful."

He reached out and picked up a lock of her hair. It felt like red cornsilk. "I will, if you promise me you will stay home. I won't be able to concentrate if I think you might be in danger."

She didn't answer him, but brought her hand up to his face, feeling the light stubble on his cheeks, then touching the ends of his dashing mustache. She smiled. "This is new since I left."

He was glad she couldn't see him blushing. "I thought it made me look tougher, meaner." Her finger traced one black handlebar up to his lips.

"No mustache could hide the kindness in your eyes," she said. He captured her hand and kissed her fingers. She grinned as his mustache tickled her fingers, but it faded at his serious expression, and when he pulled her closer.

"Are you in love with O'laughlin?" Rigsby asked suddenly. His heart pounded so loudly he was sure she could hear it in the quiet, even over the singing crickets. But he had to know or he wouldn't be sure he could hurt her by hurting him.

"No," she said at once. Relief washed over him, and he closed his eyes against it, the feeling was so powerful.

"But he's who my parents want me to marry, so I had to give him a chance. But I—" it was Grace's turn to be embarrassed. "I even took some of Mr. Jane's love elixir to try to make myself love him. I couldn't though, Wayne. I've only been able to think of you."

"Grace," he said, having trouble believing this wasn't a dream. "_My_ Grace." He dipped his head and pressed a tentative kiss to her soft lips, pulling back slightly to gauge her reaction. He couldn't make out her face though, but he had his answer when she threw her arms around his neck and planted her lips on his. Taken off balance, he backed into a tree, his knees nearly buckling under the onslaught of her ardent kisses. And then he was kissing her back wholeheartedly, his tongue breaking the seal of her lips in the kind of kisses she'd never allowed him before.

Grace had heard about kisses like this, whispered and giggled about them with her friends, and while some of the other girls had reacted in disgust, Grace had been secretly titillated. When she imagined Wayne doing it to her, it didn't seem disgusting at all. Now that it was really happening, she found it to be the single most erotic thing she'd ever experienced. He tasted faintly of spirits, but it wasn't at all unpleasant, and when she experimented by swirling her tongue around his, she was gratified to feel the hum of his impassioned moan in her mouth. Her own legs grew weak, and she clung to his strong shoulders for balance.

She could have kissed him like this forever, but he was the one to break away from her tempting lips, breathing hard and touching his forehead to hers.

"I'm sorry, Grace. I don't know what came over me."

"I'm not sorry," she panted, her heart fluttering like a hummingbird's.

"You're not?" he asked hopefully.

"No."

Rigsby wanted nothing more than to take her lips again, but he knew if he did, he'd end up taking her up against the tree. While she'd been gone, he'd gained much more experience in the rooms above Kimball's, but he could tell just by kissing Grace that she was still an innocent. He still believed his wife should be pure until their wedding night, and that's how he felt about Grace.

"Marry me," he said impulsively. "Forget O'laughlin, forget your parents. Marry _me_."

She looked at him in shock, reluctantly backing away a step or two. "I—I want to, Wayne. But it's not that simple."

"Why not?" he demanded angrily. "Your parents aren't the ones marrying me. It would be you. Why do they get to choose? They damned sure didn't pick a winner with O'laughlin!"

"Shh," she cautioned at his rising tone. "Hush, Wayne. O'laughlin's a respected man, a rising attorney. He's kind and he's handsome and—"

"And he works for Red John," Rigsby finished, unable to stand there and listen to her sing the man's praises when he was nothing more than a murderer's minion. He might have even killed someone himself; he had a certain ruthless look about him that Rigsby had seen before among killers.

"What? That's a terrible lie!"

He forced himself to be calm, for her sake. He could tell his words were hurting her, but he realized it was better for everyone if she knew the truth. "I'm sorry to say it _is_ true, Grace. Jane saw him with his own eyes when he was captured. O'laughlin was hiding the gang in the back of the attorney's office. He's been helping Red John plan this robbery tomorrow, and God knows how else he's helped him in the past."

"No!" she turned away from him, and he reached a comforting hand to her back. She shrugged him off and stepped even farther away.

"Grace—"

"When were you going to tell me this?" she asked bitterly. "When he asked to marry me? At the altar?"

"Of course not. I only just found out about it myself, and this is the first time I've been able to talk to you alone. I wouldn't have let you marry that scum, I swear. And after tomorrow…"

"What?" she rounded on him.

"Well, to tell ya the truth, I'd hoped the bastard would be dead."

He could see the glitter of her tears now in the dappled light of the moon. "This is such a big mess, Wayne. I can't believe I've let a man like that court me. And Daddy and Mother—if they only knew…"

"You see what I'm sayin', Grace. You can't rely on your parents' choice of husband. Trust your own judgment on this. You love me, I know you still do. I'm a good man, Grace. I can't build you a fancy mansion on a hill, but I can provide for you, and any young 'uns that should come along." They both blushed faintly at that. "Please, just think about it. And after tomorrow, we can start to make plans."

He brought his hand to her damp cheek. "Please, Grace."

"I should get back up to my room," she said, turning away. "If anyone saw you here, saw me with you…"

"Grace." But he knew the conversation was over for now.

She picked her way gingerly back through the trees until she found the one that led back up to her room, Rigsby following silently behind.

"Give me a boost, Wayne," she said. He'd wondered how she was going to get back up there, shoeless and wearing only a scrap of night clothing. Despite their turbulent meeting, he smiled at her quandary, and at the thought that he'd soon be touching her again. He locked his fingers together, making her a step for one dainty foot. She held his shoulders and he resisted kissing her again, knowing it wouldn't solve anything for her right now, and might even anger her, but he couldn't help saying one more thing in his defense.

"I love you, Grace. When you're thinkin' about things, think about that."

She nodded and he boosted her up until she could reach the lowest limb on the tree. He looked resolutely ahead, lest he be tempted to look up her skirt. As it was, the feel of her smooth calves beneath his hands was doing things to him that were definitely on the impure side. When he thought she was secure in her hold on the tree, he stepped back, watching her climb nimbly back up to her room. Once inside her window again, she leaned out so she could see him in the moonlight.

"I love you too, Wayne," she whispered, and then she quietly shut the window and pulled the curtains again. Rigsby stood there a few minutes, wanting to laugh like an idiot because she'd kissed him, said she loved him. But he didn't know if she loved him enough to defy her parents for him. It was a sobering thought.

Rigsby found his discarded hat beneath the tree where she'd kissed him, and walked back toward the center of town. Halfway there, he realized he'd never gotten Grace's promise to stay away from the bank tomorrow. He said a quick prayer that she'd listened to him, or tomorrow might well prove to be a total disaster.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At six o'clock the next morning, a lone rider made his way into Sacramento, trotting his horse confidently down the main street of town, his tin star reflecting the faint light of dawn. He appeared to be a deputy, the six-shooters holstered on his hips, the rifle attached to his saddle bags. He dismounted his horse in front of the jailhouse and tied it to the hitching post, spurs jingling as he walked up the steps to the boardwalk. A lantern burned low inside, and he could see through the barred window a heavy bald man reading by the light. Todd Johnson tapped on the door.

"Come in," said the soft-spoken sheriff. Johnson entered, looking around the jailhouse with hidden amusement. He didn't remember ever being in a jailhouse unless he was on the other side of the bars.

LaRoche looked up at the nondescript man with the shiny badge. He set down his book and rose.

"You one of them Stockton boys?" he asked.

"Yeah," lied Johnson. "You must be Sheriff LaRoche."

The big man nodded. "The rest of your men getting organized out there?"

"'Fraid not, Sheriff. I'm the only man they could spare, what with the big steamboat accident down the river and all." Johnson had come up with that story all on his own.

"What? What happened? I haven't heard anything."

"It's terrible," said Johnson, "bodies in the water everywhere. A real mess. My sheriff knew you was still expectin' some help, so he sent me, since I'm the best he's got, and he figured, if he could only send one, I was the natural choice."

LaRoche shook his head in wonder. "Dammit. We got that big Wells Fargo gold delivery this morning, that's why I needed the extra eyes and arms. And now the mayor got it in his thick skull to have a rally of sorts to welcome the wagon to Sacramento. Damned politicians."

"Amen, brother," said Johnson, getting into his role. He often thought, had he not become a bandit, he would have made a hell of an actor in one of those city melodramas he'd seen in San Francisco.

"Well, thanks for comin'. Slim help is better than no help I guess. My deputy is due in anytime, plus a couple more of my own deputies, so we can go to the bank and plan what security we can. Wells Fargo has their own armed guards too. I'm sure there'll be no trouble, though. Sacramento is usually a pretty quiet town."

"What about Red John's gang," Johnson couldn't resist asking, testing the limits of his acting abilities. "I heard tell he was 'round these parts."

"Ha," scoffed LaRoche. "Everybody's afraid a that bogey man. He's just a common crook, far's I've heard. That gang tends to hit places who aren't expectin' them, gettin' away with it because they've taken them by surprise. Well, we're way ahead a those scoundrels, and we'll shoot to kill."

"Sounds like you have things under control, Sheriff," said Johnson, his grin genuine. _Won't Red get a laugh outta this one?_

Rigsby entered then, eyeing their visitor curiously. He held out a friendly hand. "Deputy Wayne Rigsby," he said. "Nice to meet ya, Deputy."

"You too…Deputy." They laughed at the redundancy, and began to discuss specifics about the gold delivery—very useful information for Todd Johnson.

Johnson took a seat across from LaRoche, proud of his performance. At the same time, he relished the image still in his mind, of how he and the rest of the gang had ambushed the Stockton contingent in the early morning hours. They'd caught them totally off guard, sitting around their campfire and eating a rabbit they'd roasted. Two of them had even been sleeping—easy as pie. There were only five of them, and after the gang had snuck up on them and shot them all, Johnson had watched as Red John carved them up like a feast fit for the gods.

Johnson had asked if he could try, and Red had handed him the bloody knife. The deputy Johnson had chosen was still alive when he'd made the first tentative cut, and Red and the others had cheered them on as the lawman's throat gurgled hideously. It had been a real rush of energy, having the power of life and death in his hands like that. Afterwards, Red John had noticed two drops of blood that had spattered on a rock, shining black in the moonlight.

"Hey, Johnson, watch this," Red had said, dipping three fingers into the blood of one of the victims.

The rest of them were drawn to their leader in fascination as he drew a circle with his bloody finger on the rock, clockwise, the initial globs of blood becoming the eyes of a macabre face. He dipped his hands again, finishing the face with an incongruous, smiling mouth, dripping blood. They all laughed, some of them actually a little frightened of the wild-haired outlaw, splattered with the lawmen's blood and laughing maniacally like a demon in the red firelight. The bloody face on the rock grinned back at them happily. Johnson hadn't been afraid though. In truth, it made him want to find the nearest whore and ride her all night long. Too bad there hadn't been time for that, but there would be soon enough. After the morning's job, they'd have enough money to keep them all in whores for the rest of their lives.

"Hey, Johnson," the buffoon Rigsby was saying, and Johnson tried hard to stay in character and not be annoyed at the interruption of his musings. "When are the rest of your men gettin' here?"

Johnson almost smiled. "Like I was tellin' the sheriff here, the others won't be joinin' us…" And Johnson had the supreme pleasure of watching the deputy's face fall with every word he spoke.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You in there, Jane?" Cho knocked softly on Jane's borrowed sleeping room door, and Jane startled awake. He looked around him, disoriented, but then he simultaneously felt and smelled the sweet warmth of the woman curled into his side. She hadn't even stirred at Cho's knock.

"Yeah, I'm still here. What time is it?"

"About six. You want breakfast?" Cho asked. Teresa was fully awake now, looking with wide eyes at the door that she knew could open and expose their compromising position at any moment. Jane smiled at her reassuringly, moving her close again to draw the blankets up around them against the cool morning.

"No, no breakfast, thanks. See you after…well, you know."

"Yeah." And they heard the bartender's footsteps fade away.

"Oh, Lord," she whispered. "What if he had come in?"

Jane chuckled, nuzzling her temple and planting a tender kiss there. She looked just as beautiful in the morning as he'd imagined. "He would have been happy for us. Now, suppose you give me a proper morning kiss?" She flushed, and they both were taken back to the sensual night behind them. After their first passionate joining, they'd both fallen asleep, but Jane had awakened an hour or two later, wanting her again. He'd found great pleasure in waking her up, as had she, if her soft moans were any indication. That second time had been more hurried, more like a rush to the finish line, but no less passionate, no less loving. It had left them shaken and overwhelmed by the depth of their feelings for one another. Jane had thought nothing could have topped their first time together. He'd been so wrong.

Afterwards, they'd both been ravenous, and dug into Teresa's repast with gusto, sharing their second picnic together, this time on the cot in the back room of a saloon. They laughed and talked most of the rest of the night about unimportant things, about childhood experiences and happier days. Neither of them mentioned Red John or the impending arrival of the Wells Fargo wagon.

Around four a.m., Jane had pulled her to his side and they'd both slept soundly until Cho's knock. Now, as requested, Teresa leaned up to kiss him, and they ended up using the next half hour for something much more fulfilling than breakfast.

"I'd better get home," Teresa said later. "I need to get ready for school at nine."

"By then, it should all be over" Jane said, watching with much interest as she rose from the bed and began dressing. He'd modulated his tone carefully, trying not to give away his plans, but the perceptive school teacher had come to know him very well in such a short time. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"You're staying here until after the robbery is foiled, right?" He tried his best to look completely guileless. She wasn't buying it. "Jane?" she said in warning. She was starting to see that his last name seemed to suit him better than his first, especially when she was angry. She could understand why everyone tended to call him that.

"I'll be perfectly safe, Miss Lisbon. You go on to school now and teach those three _r's._"

"Stop patronizing me. You give me your word that you'll stay away from that bank, or I'm staying here with you, school be damned."

She was even more beautiful when she was angry with him. "My, my, Miss Lisbon, such language. Wherever is my paddle?" he asked suggestively. Her lips quirked, but she didn't let his seductive charm distract her…again.

"I mean it, Jane. You are to stay here where you'll be safe and out of trouble." He loved it when she used her teacher tone. By this time, she'd buttoned her last button and sat on the end of the cot to fasten her shoes angrily. He had a sudden vision of these being their last moments together, and he was ruining it by upsetting her. He sat up and moved to the edge of the cot next to her. Her eyes were drawn to his bare chest, and he smirked when he saw she was stubbornly trying to avoid looking at him. He reached down to still her hands at her left boot.

"Hey," he said softly, pulling her upright and holding her hands in his. "Nothing's going to happen to me. Everything will be fine, you'll see."

"It will be if you do what we agreed." She was one mulish lady.

"Fine. Whatever you say," Jane said finally, in exasperation. It wasn't exactly a hand to heart promise, but Teresa realized it was the most she would get from him under the circumstances. She'd just have to be there too to make sure he stayed well away from the danger. She smiled, having made up her mind to do just that. If she ran home and washed and changed, she'd have plenty time to be there before eight when the wagon was due to arrive.

Now Jane was the one to look at her suspiciously. She was planning something too, he just knew it, but he couldn't question her without receiving further questions that he wanted to avoid himself.

"Before you go, I want you to know something," he said seriously. She looked like he was about to hand down a death sentence. He saw her red ribbon on the bedside table, picked it up, and began finger combing her hair into a low ponytail, then neatly tying the bit of velvet around it. She watched his face, how he focused on his task, keeping her in suspense as he tried to find the right words.

"What is it?" she finally asked, anxious for whatever it was, fearful that he was saying good-bye.

"This-our time together here—it was one of the most wonderful nights of my life. I don't ever want either of us to forget it."

She swallowed the lump in her throat. How could she forget her first time with a man? Especially since it was this man. The man she—Teresa blinked back sudden tears. _What did I almost think? But that's impossible. It's too soon. He's too…damaged. I can't…__**love **__him. Can I?_

"I won't forget," she said huskily.

"Nor will I," he said, then kissed her insistently, trying to commit to memory her taste, her warmth, her scent. After a few minutes, he reluctantly let her go. He could literally hear the clock ticking—his watch on the table was counting down the seconds.

"I'll see you later, when it's over," she said, echoing his earlier words.

"When it's over," he nodded. He watched her gather up her blanket and empty jar and put them in her basket. At the door, she looked back at him, sitting on the bed, hair a tousled mess, eyes slumberous, his nudity covered only by the thin bed sheet at his waist. She smiled at the beautiful picture he made, then opened the door, looking both ways to be sure no one was seeing the local teacher leaving a saloon in the early morning.

Jane got up and barred the door behind her, then began getting dressed himself. He left a quick note of thanks for Cho, plus the few dollars he had in his pocket for his trouble. If he were able, he'd return later for his carpet bag. The only thing he needed now was Wayne Rigsby's gun. He checked to be sure it was loaded, then put it in his frock coat pocket. Quietly, Jane snuck out the door and into the morning sunrise.

A/N: I promise, I'm really not trying to tease you and build up the suspense of the robbery. These were scenes I'd already had planned in my mind to occur beforehand, they just took longer than I expected to tell. I hope you are still interested in knowing what's going to happen next. Thanks for reading. A review would be fabulous!

P.S. (spoilerish) Just learned the first episode of season 4 is entitled "Scarlet Ribbons." I do believe that's the title of one of my fics. I'm thinking about suing, lol. Can't wait until Sept!


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: "Oh, the Wells Fargo Wagon is a'comin'…" Here it is at last, the chapter I've been working up to since the beginning of this story. I have to say, this was the hardest chapter I've ever written. So many things are going on at once that I hope it isn't too difficult to follow or too heavy on exposition, or worse still, too dry. You still want to read it? LOL. I'll just close my eyes now and wait until you've finished…

**Chapter 11**

Teresa tried not to think, because if she thought about her night with Jane, she would become too distracted from what she must do. He was going to be at that bank this morning, she knew it as surely as the sun was rising in the east. He was going to try to do something ill-advised, and she needed her wits about her to attempt to stop him. His life wasn't worth trying to kill Red John. She knew he didn't feel that way, that he harbored guilt about what happened to his family. He hadn't been with them to stop the outlaw from killing them, so he'd decided he would be there now. The trouble with that logic was Jane likely would have been dead along with his wife and daughter_. Perhaps that's what he would have preferred_, she realized with a jolt. Teresa tamped down that troubling thought; she didn't have time to figure out his motives—she had her own to worry about. She would try to keep this man safe, whether he liked it or not, because…she loved him.

At home, she washed up and changed her clothes, coiling her hair quickly into its usual orderly bun. She looked on her bureau at the red ribbon she'd removed, remembering with a shiver the times Jane had removed it, then, this morning, how he'd so tenderly tied her hair back with it. In a rare show of sentimentality, she picked up the ribbon again, tying it around the bun with a brief smile. She caught her expression in the mirror and paused. She looked different somehow. No one else would likely notice, but Teresa did. She saw the telltale swelling of her lips from Jane's kisses, the smudges of purple beneath her misty green eyes, a byproduct of her mostly sleepless night. And, of course, no one would know the pleasant soreness between her legs, or the ache within her heart that he was deliberately putting himself in harm's way, even after their passionate night together.

Teresa's watched her smile fade in the mirror. _Buck up, Teresa, _she said to her reflection. Jane was out there lying in wait for Red John; she wasn't about to let him wait alone. As an afterthought, she grabbed her reticule she'd left by the door. The weight of the small pistol swung comfortingly from her wrist as she ran.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By seven-thirty, most of Sacramento's townspeople had lined up on either side of the alley road leading to the back of Mills Bank. Mayor Bertram stood on the top of the loading ramp, proclaiming the day glorious, spouting more drivel about the gold-bearing Wells Fargo wagon beginning a new era in Sacramento business opportunity. JP Mills, proprietor, stood beside him, smiling at every word.

Jane stood well back from the crowd, partly shielded by a hedge of thick juniper, scanning the faces for anyone he might recognize from his brief contact with Red John and his gang. He saw O'laughlin, standing proudly just a few feet from the loading bay, Grace Bertram beside him. His hand went to his pocket as he contemplated shooting him right then and there. But he had to be patient just a little while longer. The real prize had yet to reveal himself.

Up on the roof of the bank and atop each of the two adjoining buildings, Jane counted three lawmen holding rifles. From that distance he couldn't tell whether or not they were the Stockton men Rigsby had spoken of, but he was glad to see someone would offer additional vigilance. While Jane couldn't pick them out among the sea of hats and suits, he knew Red John's men—and perhaps even Red John himself—were patiently mingling with the others, waiting for the arrival of a different kind of treasure.

Sheriff LaRoche was doing his own observation of the people, his eyes open for flashes of metal or suspicious looking characters. Rigsby stood on the outskirts of the spectators, his shoulders tense, hand on his gun. It was difficult not to stare at Grace and O'laughlin. He was furious that she was there against his warning, and she'd avoided looking at him so she wouldn't see how upset he was. But she didn't appear to be very happy either, standing next to a man who was about to help a gang rob a bank of its gold. In truth, the mayor had forced her to go.

"Your mother isn't here, so you must perform the family duty in her stead," he had insisted, brooking no argument. "Besides, that fine boy O'laughlin will be there."

"But—" she'd nearly told him Rigsby's information and warnings, but the last thing she wanted to do was let an awful man like Red John get away, so she bit her tongue and allowed Stiles to help her into the carriage. She stood obediently by O'laughlin now, mindlessly responding to his small talk, while all the time shaking in nervous anticipation. _I'm standing next to an outlaw,_ she kept thinking over and over.

Just as the mayor had finished his speech and turned the makeshift stage over to Mr. Mills, Cho arrived on the scene. He wore a holstered pistol, a dark brown cowboy hat, and his usual bland expression, as he casually walked over to join Rigsby in silent support. Rigsby nodded at him with a wide smile, and Cho nodded soberly back.

"Jane's gone from his room, by the way," Cho told him.

"What?" Rigsby exclaimed, turning to his friend in alarm.

Cho shrugged. "Three guesses where he went."

"Dammit! One more thing I gotta worry about."

Rigsby looked around him, frustrated that something else hadn't gone according to plan. Without the back up of the Stockton deputies, they were dangerously thin on security, and now, with Jane and Grace here, Rigsby's attention would be seriously divided. He tensed further at the sound of the distant rumbling of horse hooves. The wagon had arrived. The two men removed their weapons from their holsters in anticipation.

When the Wells Fargo wagon came into view, the crowd cheered, waving handkerchiefs and homemade California flags. Teresa heard the excitement of the crowd as she entered through the narrow shortcut between the buildings—the same one Jane had used the night he was abducted. She was just in time to see the wagon pull to a stop, and she came up short right behind the mayor. She looked frantically around for Jane, but couldn't see him among the townsfolk.

Before she had the chance to catch her breath, everything seemed to happen at once. Three shots rang out, coming from somewhere above her. The crowd collectively ducked, and several women screamed as a body fell from the sky, landing hard on the dirt road. Rigsby's eyes went to the roof, and he was shocked to see that the Stockton deputy, Todd Johnson, had just shot the two Sacramento reserve deputies who'd been watching from above.

"Grace, get down!" he cried, pushing himself through the crowd. But he didn't have much hope she'd heard him, and her bright hair became lost in the crush. The third shot took out the shotgun messenger who'd sat in the wagon next to the driver. He slumped and fell over the side as the horses reared, the driver attempting vainly to regain control. Rigsby tried to stay still to take aim at the shooter as the panicking crowd buffeted him further away. Another shot came from his left, and Johnson too fell from the roof. Rigsby looked over to see Cho's smoking gun, his face a mask of grim satisfaction. At the same time, LaRoche was ushering the mayor and Mills toward the inside of the bank, whose back door stood open in welcome for the wagon.

"Grace! Grace!" The mayor was shouting for his daughter above the din. She miraculously heard and began to go back toward the sound of her father's voice, but her arms were abruptly encased in the steel grip of Craig O'laughlin. It was a mass of confusion as people fled for safety, until all that was left of the crowd were three rough-looking cowboys, advancing now with supreme confidence toward the bucking and shifting wagon.

Jane watched from his hiding spot in horror as Red John's telltale hair was revealed beneath his black hat, and the outlaw walked calmly, a pistol at the ready in each hand. With one gun he shot the wagon's horses, with the other, the hapless driver. The horses screamed in agony, rearing again, nearly overturning the wagon, but were soon silenced by another shot to their heads.

LaRoche stood in the doorway, yelling for the mayor and Mills to take shelter inside the bank. The mayor refused when he saw his daughter being held now, a gun at her pretty temple, but LaRoche pushed him inside and shut the heavy door behind them.

"Be still and quiet if you know what's good for ya," O'laughlin was saying to Grace, his educated speech replaced by that of a much rougher gang member.

It was then that Jane saw Teresa, crawling beneath the wagon, and his moment of shock dissipated as adrenalin took over and he took off at a dead run toward his trapped damsel. He was almost shot in the crossfire as Rigsby and Cho began firing their weapons, and he dropped to the ground covering his head with his hands. One of the gang fell dead before the others returned fire, but then O'laughlin turned around with his hostage. Rigsby, Cho and Jane stopped in their tracks. Abruptly, the gunfire ceased.

"I suggest you boys drop your weapons, or Miss Bertram here might just lose her head." Grace's eyes pleaded with Rigsby to do something, and his mind whirled with possibilities, but he discarded each one immediately. Nothing was worth Grace getting injured or killed.

"Let her go," growled Rigsby, his gun still pointed at O'laughlin's black heart.

O'laughlin cocked the pistol. "You best do what you're told, Deputy."

Red John, having taken cover inside the wagon when the shooting started, stood now with a grin and jumped down. He turned toward the commotion in the narrow alley, pleased beyond measure at the standoff he was witnessing. He nodded to his man Jared Renfrew to get the green strong box from beneath the dead driver's feet. From the north end of the alley came Dumar Hardy, riding one horse and holding the reins of four more, plus a pack mule. Except for the unfortunate losses of Johnson and Culpepper, everything was going according to plan, along with a little extra excitement to keep things interesting.

Teresa huddled out of sight beneath the Wells Fargo wagon while she watched the scene unfolding before her. The tall man, whom she'd assumed from his commanding tone was Red John, walked over to stand near O'laughlin and the captive Grace. He reached out to take a lock of Grace's red hair in his hand.

"Beautiful hair, Miss," he was saying, his voice ironically soft and high-pitched. "Hey, boys, you think she might be my sister? I hear my daddy got around."

They laughed, and Grace cringed as he pulled at her scalp none too gently. "I can see why you ain't just killin' her, Craig. Pretty little red filly like this. You'll have to let me have a ride."

Red John laughed again at Rigsby's expression. "Ahh, this must be yer competition, Craig. Why, he looks like a stick a dynamite, ready to explode on all of us." Red John pulled his knife from his scabbard, his face suddenly growing deadly serious. He held the knife to one of Grace's breasts. "Put down your weapon, Deputy, and you too Chinaman, and kick them away."  
>"I'm Korean," Cho muttered, but did as he was told.<p>

Then Red John's eyes alighted on Jane, rising to his feet, his borrowed gun still out of sight in his coat pocket. "Why, hey there, Goldilocks! Thought you'd left town. I don't think anyone's ever escaped from us before, have they boys?"

There was a chorus of _no's _as Red John's full attention fell on Jane. Jane trembled inside but stood up straight and proud to face his enemy. His hand itched to pull out his weapon, but the murderer had his guns trained on him, and he didn't dare risk it. "I still can't place you, Mr. Jane. I killed your wife and child, you say?"

"Yeah," Jane replied softly, cleared his throat and tried again. "Yeah." His voice was stronger the second time, but a slight tremor betrayed him. "And now, I'm gonna kill you."

"Tough guy! See what you can do. Come on," Red John taunted, amused. "But I suspect yer yellower than a frog's belly."

"You put those guns away and I'll show you what I can do." Jane's wrath had suddenly taken over, and he felt an amazing sense of calm now that this moment had finally arrived. Red John only laughed.

"I'll remind you of just who I am," Jane said softly, dangerously. "You robbed a train between Los Angeles and Rancho Malibu 'bout two years ago. When my wife wouldn't give you her wedding ring, you shot her in the face and—and" he swallowed against the pain, but made himself get it out at last. "and then you cut off her finger to get the ring. Witnesses say when my daughter screamed, you…you shot her too."

"But you weren't there, right?" Red John clarified, as if trying to remember what he'd had for dinner.

"No, because if I had, you'd already be dead."

"Oh…I remember that!" Red John said, ignoring Jane's threatening tone. "Yeah, your wife and daughter—tow headed, weren't they? Pretty little things. Stubborn though, if I recall. That's what got 'em killed. That, and I hate screamers. Makes me twitchy. But you know, I still swear I've seen you before, and it's been recent."

Teresa's movements beneath the wagon caught Jane's eye and she looked at him from the shadows. She was loosening the string of her reticule and Jane's eyes widened with fear. He forced his gaze back to Red John. He needed to find some way to distract him so he could pull out his weapon and shoot the bastard, but he was afraid that distraction was likely going to be Teresa doing something incredibly stupid and heroic.

"We're all packed up and ready, boss," said the man Jane remembered was called Jared.

"Well, we'd better hall ass and move out then."

"Hey, you can't just walk away," Jane said, taking a step forward, fearing that he was about to lose his only chance to kill this man.

"Can't? Your friends can't help you now. Why don't you stop wastin' all your time tryin' to kill me and go out and get yourself a woman. It's amazing how a little pussy will make you forget your troubles." The other gang members laughed and called out their agreement.

"I've already got a—"

Everyone jumped when the small bang of Teresa's Deringer filled the air. The bullet hit Red John in the back of the knee and he looked down at his wound like he'd just been bitten by a mosquito.

"What the hell was that?"  
>Hardy quickly found Teresa and dragged her by the legs out from beneath the wagon, screeching and clawing at the earth with her fingers as she tried to gain purchase. Her single-shot weapon lay abandoned beside her.<p>

"Let me go, you thievin' bastard!"

She struggled, but it was to no avail, and Hardy pulled her out and dragged her in front of the wagon, holding her hands painfully behind her back.

Rigsby and Cho acted quickly to retrieve their weapons in the distraction, but O'laughlin had been watching their every move.

"Uh-uh," he said, pushing the pistol harder into Grace's head. "Stay where you are, gentlemen."

Red John eyed Teresa in silent irritation, then pointed his weapon and shot her in the left shoulder.

"No!" Jane yelled, Grace echoing his cry with her own.

Jane's hand went to his pocket but Jared had his weapon trained on him. He watched helplessly as Teresa slumped in Hardy's arms, still conscious, but breathing heavily and whimpering quietly. Blood poured from the wound unabated, running down her arm to drip out of her sleeve.

Hardy looked at Red John in annoyance. "Hey, Red, you coulda hit me." His boss ignored him before turning back to enjoy Jane's reaction.

Jane was panting so hard himself he thought he might faint, and he didn't know whether to risk shooting Red John or try to help Teresa. His nemesis made his decision for him.

"Wait!" Red John said, snapping his fingers and staggering a little on his injured leg. Everyone stilled to listen."Now I remember where I've seen you! I passed by you and your little peddler cart by the river two days ago. I woulda robbed ya then, but I didn't want to interrupt such a tender moment." He glanced at Teresa in sudden recognition. "Yeah, you was with this little hellcat here. You had her on her back, your mouth latched onto her teet like a piglet to a sow." He chuckled at his own joke, not even appearing to feel the pain in his knee.

Rigsby and Cho looked from Jane's stricken face to Teresa, who wasn't so badly hurt that she couldn't flame red with embarrassment. She met Jane's haunted eyes and shook her head slightly. _It's not worth it,_ Teresa said silently, trying to send him a mental message through her haze of pain. But then Jane's eyes went cold and he focused on the outlaw's words.

"Well, that's a load off my mind, finally rememberin'. I thought I was goin' crazy. Hey, good for you, Jane," Red John was saying in sincere appreciation. "Tell me, is she as fiery in bed as she is—"

Red John had crossed in front of Renfrew's line of sight, so Jane put his hand in his pocket and pulled the trigger of Wayne Rigsby's six-shooter. He shot three times, each one landing squarely in the murderer's gut. Smoke arose from the hole in Jane's coat pocket as the outlaw, Red John, fell to his knees in surprise, then slumped onto his stomach. Hardy pushed Teresa to the ground and he and Renfrew simultaneously decided to make a run for it.

O'laughlin stared in shock at Red John's unmoving body, then at his cohorts, who were obviously abandoning him.

"Wait!"

He knew if he let loose of his hostage, he'd be a goner, but he was also no longer interested in sticking around here. Grace, taking advantage of O'laughlin's momentary distraction, chose that moment to jab her elbow into her suitor's side. He yelped in pain, the gun slipping from her head and firing harmlessly into the dirt. He knocked Grace out of his way deciding to take his chances with making it to a horse.

"Run, Grace!" Rigsby yelled. Grace ran toward the wagon to help Teresa, who lay in the dirt, her right hand at her shoulder.

Rigsby and Cho grabbed their weapons from the ground and Cho began firing at the newly mounted Renfrew and Hardy. Hardy fell from his horse, Cho's bullet having gone through his back and into his heart. He was dead before he hit the ground. Renfrew, however, rode on, holding the reins of the pack mule that bore the gold.

Rigsby advanced on O'laughlin, hatred burning in his eyes, but the attorney was running toward one of the leftover horses.

"Stop where you are, O'laughlin," Rigsby commanded. He had one bullet left, and he knew exactly where he wanted to put it. O'laughlin stopped, his foot already in one stirrup, then let go of the pommel and turned toward the man who'd called him out. He knew his only chance now was to use his skills for diplomacy, which was one reason he'd been such a convincing lawyer.

"Now, Deputy," he began, holstering his weapon and holding up his hands in surrender. He glanced in the direction in which Renfrew had escaped. "Before you hall off and shoot me, I think there's a little room for negotiation here. You need me."

Rigsby raised an angry, skeptical eyebrow. "I don't need the likes of an outlaw lawyer for nothin'. In fact," he said, raising his gun and pointing it at O'laughlin's head. "I don't see a need for you at all."

"Oh? Well, I think the sheriff and Wells Fargo might disagree. You see, Renfrew just made off with the gold, and it looks like I'm the only man left alive that can take you to the gang's hideout."

Rigsby's eyes narrowed as he considered what the man was saying. As much as he hated O'laughlin, it would be a huge blow to the town, not to mention to the reputation of Sacramento law enforcement, if that gold was lost. On the other hand…

"What if you're lying?"

O'laughlin shrugged. "_Then_ you can shoot me. I'm sure Renfrew won't hesitate to carry on in Red John's footsteps. He's got enough money now to start a new gang from scratch. How embarrassing if you passed up this chance to find him because of petty jealousy that I'd taken your sweetheart."

"He's got a point," muttered the ever-practical Cho.

Grace watched from her place at Teresa's side, her embroidered handkerchief pressed to her former teacher's wound. She held her breath, not wanting to see any more bloodshed, even though she hoped O'laughlin would hang for what he'd done. While Rigsby considered his options, the sheriff and Mayor Bertram emerged from the bank's back door, surveying the carnage in astonishment. Rigsby's eyes only left O'laughlin for a split second, but it was time enough for the lawyer to draw.

"Wayne!" cried Grace. Rigsby fired automatically, and O'laughlin dropped in a heap on the ground. Grace watched him fall, but then her eyes were focused on Rigsby, who was bent over, clutching his side. O'laughlin's bullet had hit its mark. She replaced her hand on Teresa's wound with the teacher's, and ran to the man she loved.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Patrick Jane's world had been reduced to himself and the man at his feet. He paid no attention to what was going on around him, not even the gunfire, the yelling, or his lover bleeding on the ground nearby. It was like he was in a trance, unable to believe that it was over, that he'd killed the devil he'd been chasing for years without having died himself. He'd resigned himself to that very real possibility, so that now that he'd found himself alive, he felt nothing but numbness and a vague sense that everything was not as it should be. He toed Red John over to his back, needing to be sure the man was dead. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, set in a grimace that grotesquely resembled a smile. His red hair spread around him like the rays of the sun, and his dark eyes were closed.

"Red John" Jane whispered, jostling him with his foot. There was no reply at first, then he heard the breathy sound of the man's laughter, followed by a gurgling cough. More blood ran out of his mouth. Startled, Jane took a step back and aimed Rigsby's gun at his face.

"You got me, Goldilocks," Red John rasped in wonder. "A two-bit peddler man got me. And here I was about to retire." He coughed again, choking on the blood in his throat. "So how do you feel now, Mr. Jane? Is revenge sweet, like they say?" He grinned almost maniacally, and suddenly, it was like someone had turned the lights on again in Jane's eyes, and he'd awakened to a whole new world.

"I'll let you know after you're dead," said Jane, pulling the trigger and wiping the smile off Red John's face forever.

A/N: Well, hope that was worth the build-up. I'm sure some of you will have a lot of logical questions that will likely start with "Why didn't they-?" I'll try to answer those individually, but I may not have an answer, lol. I've been working on this chapter for about three days, so I think it's about as good as I can personally make it without going completely nuts trying to rework it any more. I just had to set it free… If I've missed something or screwed up something, feel free to let me know (especially you, BFangz, sometime technical advisor, lol). I do hope you found something to like. Please let me know; I need some encouragement after writing this bear of a chapter.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: I'm so glad my last chapter went over so well! It really had be difficult to write, and your kind reviews were a great reward for all my hair-pulling. So, thank you! This chapter offers a little calm after the storm, some much-needed comic relief from all the angst of the previous two chapters. I hope you enjoy it!

**Chapter 12**

"Put the gun down, Jane," said Sheriff LaRoche, advancing on the peddler standing over the body of Red John. Jane continued to stare at the grotesque damage he had caused, flashing back to the day he'd seen his wife and daughter's bodies. He could only identify them by their hair and clothing; there had been only ghastly holes where their faces had been. He wondered vaguely whether the haunting images of his family would now be replaced in his nightmares by this one—Red John, faceless and dead.

Jane dropped the gun as if it had suddenly caught fire, and looked up at LaRoche.

"You gonna arrest me, Sheriff?" he asked softly, his eyes squinting against the morning sun. LaRoche looked down at the outlaw, who had been shot at least four times from what he could tell. He didn't answer Jane's dull question.

"A bit of overkill, wouldn't you say?"

_Was he making a joke?_ Jane looked at the sheriff incredulously.

"Red John, I presume?" asked LaRoche, stabbing at the dead man with one pointed boot.

Jane nodded dumbly, then left the sheriff to examine the other bodies lying dead in the alley. As Jane's brain began to clear, he suddenly remembered Teresa, who was leaning against one of the wagon's wheels, her eyes closed, her body frightfully still.

"We need a doctor," Grace called out, from her place on the ground beside Rigsby. The mayor had come over to be near his daughter, rhapsodizing over how terrified he'd been, how grateful he was that she was all right, how appalled her mother would be to hear what had transpired. Grace struggled out of her father's embrace in annoyance, her focus totally on the unconscious Rigsby. She tore off a piece of her petticoat and held it against the brave deputy's side.

"Please, someone go get the doctor!" she repeated desperately, watching in dismay as Rigsby's blood quickly seeped through the thin fabric.

"I'll go," said Cho, having felt for his friend's pulse before heading toward Doctor Steiner's office at a run.

Jane was almost too afraid to approach Teresa, fearing the worst, but at the same time, he was suddenly anxious to know how she was. In the heat of the last several minutes, bullets flying, he'd blocked out the fact that she might be dying. He wondered whether that came from fear or his total focus on the end of his long quest for revenge. Either way, he was feeling damned guilty as he kneeled down to rest a shaking hand on her cheek.

"Teresa?"

When her green eyes opened immediately, it was as if a fist had slammed into his gut, making him gasp with the enormity of what had just happened, what had _almost_ happened. He'd killed Red John, and another woman he loved had almost died at the murderer's hand. Tears sprung to his eyes, and his heart pounded in time with his shallow breaths.

She smiled tenderly at him. "Are you all right?" she whispered weakly. He laughed in surprise, shaking his head in disbelief. She was braver than he'd ever been in his life.

"You're lying here with a gunshot wound and you're asking me how _I _am? I'm fine. Or I will be once the doctor sees to you."  
>"Is he dead?" she asked. He knew she didn't mean the doctor.<p>

Jane smoothed her dark hair back from her face, his other hand pressing Grace's handkerchief to the hole in her shoulder. "Yes," he said simply, and as he looked into her pain-filled eyes, he allowed himself to feel the first vestiges of intense satisfaction at what he'd done.

"Good," she replied, and then she abruptly lost consciousness.

"Teresa?" He patted her face gently, but she didn't stir. He leaned forward and pressed his head to her bosom, relieved to hear her heartbeat, however slow and faint. He gathered her into his arms and stood up with her, holding her to his body like a child. He walked to the shade of the bank's back awning.

"Where the hell is that damned doctor?" He said aloud, to no one in particular. Ten long minutes later, Cho returned driving a wagon, the tall, gaunt-faced, bespectacled Doctor Steiner beside him. Jane laid Teresa in the back atop blankets someone had thoughtfully spread out. The doctor looked around the alley at all the bodies in shock. He hadn't been at the rally earlier, and Cho's terse description on the ride over had not prepared him for this bloody scene. Steiner climbed down from the wagon and examined Teresa, felt for her pulse, then took scissors from his black bag to cut open her dress near the wound. Cho averted his eyes at the first sight of skin, and went over to where Rigsby lay.

"The bullet's still in there," Steiner said. He lifted Teresa up slightly and felt beneath her. "No exit wound. I will have to remove the bullet. She's obviously lost a lot of blood, but it appears to have stopped for now."

"Will she be all right, Doc?" he asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

He shrugged. "One never knows. If no infection develops, she could recover completely." He looked curiously at Jane's unfamiliar face. "Who are you, sir, if I may ask?"

"Patrick Jane. I'm her…boarder." Doctor Steiner wasn't fooled; he'd seen the way the blonde man held the school teacher so lovingly. He didn't blame him a bit though. Miss Lisbon was quite a handsome woman. But then Steiner remembered hearing this man's name bandied about town. He was a troublemaking peddler, hawking his snake oil to the gullible townsfolk. He certainly didn't approve of such quackery, for he knew sometimes such cure-alls could be dangerous. Steiner's eyes narrowed.

"Just keep your _elixirs_ away from Miss Lisbon, and I'm sure she'll be fine," he warned sternly.

A trace of Jane's old mischief returned to his eyes. "I wouldn't think of it. Although…I have a remedy for what I suspect is your particular complaint, Doctor: _The Elixir of Relief and Comfort_. It just might bring back some of your former…vigor." If Doctor Steiner wasn't an excellent example of someone who was chronically constipated, he'd eat his hat.

"My _vigor_ is just fine, thank you, Mr. Jane. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have another patient to see to."

Jane felt his face slip into its familiar grin, and he remembered that the last time he'd smiled was this morning, when he'd awakened with Teresa in his arms. He looked down at her now, his smile fading as he regarded her, so pale and still now in the doctor's wagon. He reached for her cool, limp hands, rubbing them between his to try to bring back some of their usual warmth.

"The doc says you'll be fine, Teresa, if he doesn't kill you first with his prickly personality."

Steiner knelt beside Rigsby, listened to his heart, then scrutinized his wound. "It passed right through, so I need only stitch him up," he told Grace and Cho. "I doubt if the bullet pierced any internal organs, so he'll just have to take it easy awhile to heal. Get him into the wagon, please, and we'll take him and Miss Lisbon back to my office."

"He'll live?" Grace asked happily.

"Yes, Miss. If he rests enough."

Cho and Sheriff LaRoche bent over to pick up Rigsby's lanky body, Cho holding his arms, LaRoche his legs, awkwardly carrying the tall man to the wagon. Jane moved to help them lower him gently to the wagon bed, while Grace looked on and occasionally gasped at Rigsby's sometimes precarious position. He moaned softly once or twice, but was otherwise silent.

Doctor Steiner's eyes rested on each of the remaining bodies in the alleyway, turning to LaRoche. "I take it everyone else here is dead?"

"Yeah. All but one of Red John's gang. Unfortunately, the one that got away has Wells Fargo's gold."

"Too bad," said Steiner. "Mr. Cho, are you ready?" Cho answered by climbing back to the wagon seat and taking the reins.

"You have enough room for me?" asked Grace.

"Absolutely not," interposed the mayor. "Grace, it's unseemly for a lady to be inside the doctor's office with an unmarried man. You'll go home and lay down to recover from this horrible incident."

"There's plenty of room," said Cho, ignoring the mayor.

"I'm sorry, Daddy, but I need to be there with Wayne. I—I love him, and I hope to marry him the minute he recovers."

"What? You most certainly will not! He's beneath you, Gracie, and you know it."

She stared at her father with an unwavering look of determination. "It's time I made my own decisions." She glanced at the body of Craig O'laughlin, echoing the words Rigsby had said the night before. "After all, look what's become of _your_ choice."

"Grace Elizabeth Bertram!" called the mayor to no avail.

Cho reached down to help his old schoolmate climb aboard the wagon, Dr. Steiner joining them as they began the short ride to Dr. Steiner's office. Grace faced forward, away from her fuming father, nodding for Cho to drive on. Jane was already sitting in the back of the wagon, holding Teresa's cold hand.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Right before Teresa was to be etherized for surgery, she awoke again to see the concerned face of Patrick Jane.

"Hello," he said, smiling sweetly at her, his eyes still sparkling, though somewhat subdued under the circumstances. The events of the morning came back to her and she shuddered, then blanched in pain.

"Shhh…be still," he cautioned, holding her down as Dr. Steiner prepared his instruments. "The doctor has to remove the bullet, but you'll be back shooting outlaws in the knees in no time."

She closed her eyes, embarrassed now at her rash action. "I'm sorry," she croaked. "I was hoping it would allow Wayne to capture him."

"Forget it. You were very brave—stupid, but brave. Of course, I took a few chances myself. All's well that ends well." He was trying to sound nonchalant, when really he was still a little shaky about what had happened, and extremely concerned that something might go wrong with Teresa's surgery. He could still lose her, and his stomach clenched just thinking about it.

"The children," she exclaimed suddenly.

"What? What children?"

"At school…"

Her voice was growing weaker, and Jane realized she was beginning to fade away again.

"Don't worry about your students. I'll take care of them." Hell if he knew how, but he'd do what he had to—anything for this woman who had come to mean so much to him in such a short time. He was touched that she was about to undergo surgery, and she was still thinking of others.

"The key…" she said, patting her dress pocket. Those were her last words to him before she closed her eyes again.

"Mr Jane," Steiner said brusquely. "I must insist that you leave now. I've done this kind of thing many times before. You have nothing to worry about. She's in very capable hands."

Jane raised an eyebrow, but knew there was little choice in the matter anyway. The bullet had to come out. Despite his audience, he leaned over and kissed Teresa gently on the lips.  
>"I love you," he whispered, needing to say the words out loud whether she heard them or not. He got no reaction, so he figured she had passed out again. He squeezed her hand and prepared to go.<p>

But Jane couldn't resist taunting Steiner at least one more time. The man just seemed to invite it. He turned to the doctor, putting on his most threatening expression.

"If she dies, Steiner, you'll pay for her life with your own, understand? I've already killed one man today; it wouldn't take much more for me to take out an one old doctor."

Steiner paled, gulped, but otherwise pretended he hadn't heard as he turned at last to his waiting patient.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane peeked out of the operating room door to see that Sheriff LaRoche was quietly holding vigil with Cho and Grace, and Jane had the foreboding feeling that he was also waiting for him to emerge. Jane could understand how his actions might be called into question—it certainly must have seemed like overkill from LaRoche's perspective-four gunshots when one might have sufficed. But so far, he hadn't been arrested, which Jane felt was a very good sign. However, he'd been run out of enough towns to know when he should hedge his bets and expect the worst. He quietly closed the door again, then went down a hall that he assumed led to the rear of the surgery. The faint smell of ether followed him to a back door, which he unbolted with a soft click. Outside, he found his way back to the boardwalk, then headed in the direction he'd seen Teresa going on her way to school last Friday.

It was just a few blocks to the large school house, and when he arrived he saw there was only a handful of students standing outside on the front steps. Word of what happened at the bank had spread like wildfire, and most town folk had kept their children at home, but those who had had to walk from the country, many of them covering miles, hadn't heard that a member of Red John's gang was still at large.

Jane fished out the key he'd taken from Teresa and brushed past the chattering students, who at once quieted in curiosity at the handsome blonde man who was unlocking their schoolroom door.

"Where's Miss Lisbon?" demanded a young boy, who didn't appear to be afraid of anything. Jane instantly related to the devil in the child's big brown eyes, and he grinned widely.

"Miss Lisbon isn't feeling well today. I'm her friend, Mr. Jane, and I told her I would entertain you since she couldn't be here herself. What's your name, sonny?"

"Jane's a girl's name, but my name is Benjamin Johnson," he said importantly. "Miss Lisbon says I'm going to be the death of her."

Jane chuckled. "Don't worry, Benjamin. She says the same thing about me." He ruffled the little boy's hair fondly.

He pushed open the door and indicated that the students precede him. Their expressions became even more inquisitive as they filed in and sat in their accustomed seats and watched closely as Jane walked down the aisle to stand before Teresa's orderly oak desk. He appraised the classroom in one quick glance, seeing that their teacher seemed to run a very tight ship. Everything was neat and tidy and in its proper place. Maps of the country and of the world covered one wall, while the whimsical drawings created by the students themselves covered another. An American flag and one of the State of California hung from sconces on the wall beside the black board, and a plaque of The Ten Commandments hung just above. _God and country for Teresa Lisbon-in that order, _he thought in amusement, tamping down the sudden ache as he remembered she was undergoing surgery at that very moment.

"As I said, students, I'm Mr. Jane." He pulled out a deck of marked cards from his inside coat pocket. "Do any of you enjoy…magic?"

The rest of the morning passed with Jane showing them every card and coin trick he knew, every game of suggestion he could try, and he'd even told a few fortunes. He described in riotous detail funny stories about his life with the circus, of his time on the road alone and the interesting people he'd met along the way, carefully avoiding the dark reasons behind his travels. He even related a story about a run-in with Indians, although he greatly embellished it for effect. The children were enraptured by him, drawn in by his natural charm and wit. He teased, though gently, and when none of them ran crying from the room, he considered his morning a complete success.

By the lunch break, however, Jane had run out of child-appropriate material, but he realized it would please Teresa if he actually taught the children something of formal educational value that afternoon. _Teresa. _She was long out of surgery by then, but his promise to her to take care of her class kept him at the school, when in fact his heart was with her in the narrow bed of Dr. Steiner's surgery.

He sat on the front steps of the school building at noon, sharing a cheese sandwich with a little girl named Lizzie Thompson, who'd shyly offered him half when she saw he had no lunch bucket of his own. He felt his eyes mist a little as she looked up at him with thoughtful blue eyes- she was about the same age his daughter had been when she died.

"Thank you, Lizzie," he said sincerely, and they ate their lunch in companionable silence.

Jane loved children, and despite how it always made his heart ache with longing and pain, he couldn't resist interacting with them whenever he saw one. Teresa was so lucky to have a room full of children every day, to get the chance to watch them frolic and play in the grass and dirt of the schoolyard, to tease them, to make them laugh, to see their shining faces when he took them by surprise. He and Angela had wanted a dozen; he found himself wondering if Teresa felt the same.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The afternoon was filled with Jane regaling the class with his favorite stories from Greek mythology. He even did different voices for the different gods and mortals, much to the delight of the students. But as much fun as he was having, by two o'clock, he was itching to find out about Teresa, so he dismissed school early with the promise he would be there the next day.

As he locked the door behind him, he realized he hadn't thought of Red John since he'd opened this very door that morning. Five waking hours without thinking of the murderer? It was a personal record. The children had been a welcome distraction, but more than that, Jane felt a buoyancy he hadn't experienced in years. His ever-present, deep-seated anger seemed to have died the moment he'd killed Red John. He was free now. Free to—

"Mr Jane," said the tall US Marshall who was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. "You need to come with me."

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this lighter change of pace. I think Jane would make a good teacher, although I would feel sorry for his principal trying to get him to actually follow a set curriculum, lol. Back to the romance and fallout from the shoot-out in my next chapter. Please sign in and review!


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: This is the second chapter I've posted since Friday, so if you are behind, please go back and catch up before continuing! I promise I'll catch up on the last chapter's reviews very soon. Now, for the resolution of that little cliffie I left you with. See if you can spot some familiar names…

**Chapter 13**

"Are the manacles really necessary," asked Jane in annoyance. He was sitting in a chair at the jailhouse—not behind bars, but he would have preferred that to the metal wrist and ankle bands chained together uncomfortably.

"Sorry, Mr. Jane," replied LaRoche. "Until we can clear up a few things for the marshal here, we have to be sure you aren't a member of Red John's gang."

Jane looked from LaRoche to the US Marshal, Dyson, as he'd introduced himself. "You're joshin' with me, right? I believe you saw me shooting Red John with your own eyes, didn't you Sheriff?"

LaRoche nodded. "Yes, but it wouldn't be inconceivable for you to have had a falling out with your leader. Maybe got greedy and wanted more of the gold for yourself. After all, he had O'laughlin here all these months, laying the foundation for a heist like this. Funny thing you just came days before it was about to happen."

Jane shook his head, feeling like laughing at how completely ludicrous these accusations were. "I came here almost as soon as I got into town, Sheriff. I asked you for news of Red John. I told you what he'd done to my wife and child, how I'd been chasing the bastard for two years. Does that sound like a man who was a member of a gang of thieves and murderers?"

The marshal regarded Jane suspiciously. "I've been tracking Red John's gang for the past three years, myself, Mr. Jane. I know how he operates. This O'laughlin guy had everyone here taken in as I understand. Red John had friends everywhere, and those he couldn't seduce into his criminal way of thinkin', he threatened or bought off. You haven't convinced me you weren't one of them."

Jane did grin now, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. "I believe a man is considered innocent until proven guilty in this country, lessin' the laws have changed. Tell me what proof you have so I can hire me a good lawyer."

"This," LaRoche said, pulling out a familiar slip of paper. It was the copy of the telegram Rigsby had made for him.

"What's that?" Jane asked innocently.

"You know very well what it is," LaRoche countered. "When you gave me the slip at Dr. Steiner's office, I looked for you at Miss Lisbon's. In searching your room, I found this under your pillow: proof that you were trying to find out what we knew about Red John's movements. I imagine you were reporting back to him all along."

"You have a great imagination, sheriff," said Jane, shaking his head in genuine amusement. "All right, I admit I stole a peek at the original telegraph, but you knew when I came here I was trying to find Red John. You wouldn't share what you knew, so I found ways of discovering what you wouldn't say. I just knew in my gut he was coming to Sacramento, so I waited for him here." No mention was made of Rigsby's part in obtaining the telegraph, so Jane stayed mum.

The two lawmen regarded Jane quietly, trying to decide if they were being conned by this troublemaking peddler.

"You're very good at explaining things away, Mr. Jane. But how do you explain this?" The marshal held up the six-shooter Jane had borrowed. "Tell us why you were using Deputy Rigsby's gun? Looks like you stole that too. Stealing a lawman's weapon, then using it in the commission of a crime—that could mean the noose for you."

"He gave it to me," Jane said simply. And even though that was the truth, it sounded lame even to him.

LaRoche and Dyson looked at each other, obviously not buying that explanation. "Right," said LaRoche.

Jane sighed in frustration. "Two nights ago, I was walking from the saloon to Miss Lisbon's boarding house, and I was accosted on the street. I didn't have a weapon to protect myself, so Rigsby loaned me his. I was planning on returning it before I left town, I swear."

"If that's true, Mr. Jane," began LaRoche, "why didn't you come to the jailhouse and make a complaint? And why didn't Rigsby let me know about a crime he had knowledge of?"

"I begged him not to, Sheriff. I'd already been involved with that trouble at the saloon. I didn't want to be in the center of any more. 'Sides, I didn't know who had attacked me. Probably someone from that saloon fight, still blaming me, I expect. Rigsby felt sorry for me—we've become very friendly—and so loaned me the six-shooter." When they continued to look skeptical, Jane tried again.

"Ask him if you don't believe me. The doc says he'll be right as rain soon enough. He'll explain everything just as I said." _Provided I get the chance to talk to him before you do._

"Another thing that bothers me, Jane," LaRoche said. "You led everyone to believe you'd left town. Your wagon's gone from the stables; you'd cleared your stuff out of Miss Lisbon's…"

"I was afraid for my life, Sheriff, like I said. I thought it best that while I was waiting for the possible arrival of Red John, I'd hide out. When I got wind of the Wells Fargo wagon coming, I figured if the gang was gonna strike, that would be the perfect target…I was right."

"Huh," said the marshal. This man had a way of explaining things that made everything sound so neat and tidy. He was a little too slick for Dyson's taste. "I saw the body of Red John. No one shoots a man that many time lessin' there was a personal vendetta. I wouldn't have known him 'cept for his hair. "

Jane leaned forward in his chair, all traces of humor gone. "Imagine that was the only way to identify _your_ wife and child, Marshal. You say you been followin' Red John for years. You might remember the mother and daughter on a train…" He went on to recount his story, feeling vaguely like the ancient mariner, doomed to tell his sad tale over and over for the rest of his life.

"Sheriff LaRoche told me your story. You could have found accounts of that from the newspapers."

Jane was suddenly angry. No one had ever expressed doubt before about what had happened to his family. Everything else he'd said had at least a grain of truth to it, though he'd left out some things that might incriminate himself or his new friends. But to show disbelief about the fates of Angela and Charlotte was to Jane the ultimate insult. He might obfuscate everything else under the sun, but he'd never malign their memories with a lie.

"Listen to me, _gentlemen_," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "All you have against me is speculation. My answers are just as believable as yours, so let's let a jury decide if need be. I'm not afraid. I got truth on my side. There's no proof I was ever involved with Red John's gang, none at all. I got witnesses to back me up, so I ain't sayin' anymore 'bout this without their words or a lawyer present. Now, if you please, tell me how Miss Lisbon and Rigsby are doin'—I'm through answerin' _your _questions."

"You got quite a temper there under that sunny smile a your'n," commented the marshal, amused that they'd finally pushed this man to the limits of his good humor. "Man like that is capable of the worst kinds of crimes because they're always crimes of passion. I'm guessin' you shot Red John so many times 'cause it was personal."

Jane was not taking the bait. He looked at LaRoche. "Miss Lisbon's condition, Sheriff?" he inquired tightly.

LaRoche took pity on him. "Doc got the bullet out. She'll be fine. Rigsby's all stitched up and should be goin' back to his mama's today."

"Well, you need to either charge me with a crime or let me go." Jane needed desperately to see Teresa for himself, to kiss her, to tell her everything was going to be all right now. Hell, maybe she'd even welcome hearing that he loved her.

The door to the jailhouse suddenly crashed open with a bang, and Dyson and LaRoche automatically went for their sidearms. But it was only Mayor Betram and a wealthy looking man, tall and dark-haired, wearing the latest in men's fashion. Jane glanced out the window and saw a teenage boy, struggling with a large camera and tripod.

LaRoche rose to his feet. "Mr. Mayor. Mr. Mashburn. How may I help you gentlemen?"  
>Bertram scowled at Jane's manacles, ignoring the sheriff's polite greeting. "Why is this man in chains?" he demanded. "He's been lauded a hero in this town. Mr. Mashburn here, publisher of <em>The<em> _Sacramento Bee, _as you know, is here to get the full story straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak."

"Mayor Bertram, Mr. Jane needed to answer a few questions about his recent actions. We had to be certain he wasn't a member of Red John's gang. Craig O'laughlin had us all fooled; we didn't want to be fooled again." Everyone knew Bertram had had his eye on O'laughlin as a potential son-in-law, so LaRoche hoped he'd understand their caution regarding Jane. Bertram looked momentarily uncomfortable, but he was nothing if not a seasoned politician, able to smile blithely through any calamity.

"Well, we must put that all behind us, don't you think? I saw O'laughlin hold a gun to my Grace's head, and I saw Mr. Jane shoot Red John in the face. It's pretty clear to me who was on whose side."

"But there were some questions," Dysonbegan. The mayor cut him off in annoyance.

"You a US Marshall? Seems to me you and your team have been hunting Red John for years, and when it came down to it, one man, one heartbroken man set on finding justice for his poor dead family, was the one to finally kill the bastard. This is the kind of story that inspires, that brings positive attention to our town. All but one of that gang is dead, and we owe Mr. Jane a great debt for that. Now why don't you focus on tracking down that man who escaped with the gold, eh?"

Jane sat back in his chair, his former humor returning as he watched this new, fortuitous event unfolding before him. He happened to catch the eye of the man called Mashburn, noting they were both looking on the mayor's speech with shared amusement.

"Sheriff LaRoche," Mashburn began, his voice smooth and persuasive, trying to ease the tension in the room. "Have you and the good marshal discovered any solid evidence that Mr. Jane was part of Red John's gang?"

"Well, uh, no. Nothing concrete."

"And the mayor said you personally witnessed Mr. Jane killing that dastardly bandit, Red John?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then I speak on behalf of the fine citizens of Sacramento when I say, let this man go. He's a hero, not a villain to be manacled and treated as a criminal."

_Damn, _Jane thought, recognizing a fellow conman when he heard one, _this guy is good._

"Unchain him, Sheriff," said the marshal in resignation. All they had on Jane was circumstantial, and all they need do was talk to the deputy for his side of it. Dysonhad a feeling all would be corroborated.

"But I'm not completely convinced of his story," LaRoche maintained. "There are some things that just don't add up."

"Let him go," ordered Dyson. He turned to Jane. "But you don't leave town until we can confirm what you've said, hear me? Or you'll have the US Marshall Service to answer to."

"I wouldn't hear of it," Jane said with a grin.

"Well done, gentlemen," said Mashburn, a wide smile creasing his close-shaved cheeks. He always loved it when he closed a deal. "You'll both get honorable mention in the story I'm writing. It'll be front-page news." LaRoche shook his head in silent protest, then brought out the key to Jane's manacles and reached over to unlock them.

Dyson grunted noncommittally. "Mr. Mashburn, you might also include in your article that the US Marshall Service is completely on top of this robbery. As we speak, five marshals and a posse from San Francisco are tracking that missing gang member. Now, Sheriff, if we're done here, I've got some more witnesses to question, then I'll be preparing the bodies for transport by train back with me to Los Angeles."

"That's fine," Bertram agreed, as if he had a say in the matter. "Mashburn and his photographer already got pictures of the bodies, so you're welcome to them."

Bertram completely missed the marshal's amused smirk. "Thank you, Mayor." He tipped his hat to the company in general and squeezed out the door of the crowded jailhouse.

Jane, no longer in chains, stood up, rubbing wrists which had only just healed from the last time he was bound. He doffed his hat and followed after Dyson.

"Hey, Mr. Jane," came the voice of the newspaper man, Mashburn. Jane stopped on the boardwalk, despite his impatience to seek out Teresa. "I would like to hear your story first hand, if you have the time."

Jane turned back to regard the taller man. "I really need to check on my injured friends, if you don't mind. Maybe later." _After hell freezes over, _Jane finished to himself.

"Come on, Mr. Jane. I think you owe me one, don't you? I saved your hide in there and you know it. You looked like you were in a heap of trouble from where I was standing."

Jane knew he was right, but the thought of Teresa, lying in a bed in that godforsaken surgery alone with Steiner, who was obviously attracted to her, made him feel unusually antsy.

"What's your first name, Mr. Mashburn?"

"Walter. Yours is Patrick, as I've heard. Nice to meet you, Patrick." He stuck out a well-manicured hand and Jane shook it, noting he had not one callous to mar his soft skin.

"Well, Walter, I can tell you are a man of means, a man who knows how to get people to do what he wants. And I respect that, I do. But listen closely when I say, if I don't see Teresa Lisbon within the next ten minutes, your paper might be missing a publisher real quick." While he made the threat with a twinkle in his eye, there was no doubt he was completely serious.

Mashburn released Jane's hand and chuckled in appreciation. "I hear you, Patrick. You're sweet on the school teacher. I've seen Miss Lisbon too, so I know why a dog like you'd be sniffing around her. Tell ya, what, let Carlhere capture your likeness, and you can come to my office for a full interview after you see Miss Lisbon. Deal?"

Jane looked at the kid photographer, who hastily began setting up the tripod the moment Mashburn's suggestion left his mouth. Jane sighed in minor defeat. He _did_ owe him.

"Fine. But make it quick."

"Wonderful! Now, stand beneath the jailhouse sign, that'll be great."

Jane stood still for the five minutes it took for the camera to take the picture, hat in hand, trying his best to look serious. The moment Carlsaid he was finished, Jane move to take his leave.

"Nice meeting you, Patrick. I'll see you at the newspaper office real soon, right?" Mashburn's grin was very similar to Jane's. The publisher knew damn well Jane wouldn't show up, but he'd gotten the picture he wanted and could piece together a great story even without his statement. And Jane knew that Mashburn knew they'd likely never meet again.

"Right, Walter. And thanks again for intervening in there. I did feel a little like I was before the Spanish Inquisition."

"My pleasure. Oh, and give my regards to Miss Lisbon, will ya? She's sure to remember _me_."

Jane's eyes narrowed at the man's suggestive tone. He nodded once and finally headed for Doctor Steiner's office, leaving Walter Mashburn's soft laughter behind him.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane had made sure he'd left the back door to Doctor Steiner's unlatched, so it was just a matter of slipping inside unannounced when he saw that the marshal had beaten him to the front entrance. He could hear the two men arguing from all the way back in the surgery.

"I'm sorry, Marshal, but my patients' welfare is of paramount importance. They are both recovering from gunshot wounds. They need their rest. I've already turned away the newspaper men and Miss Bertram, the mayor's daughter. I see no reason to make special consideration for you. Your questions can wait unless you are immediate family. Now, good-day, sir."

Old Steiner wasn't going to move an inch, Jane thought gleefully. He listened as the foiled marshal left the office, Steiner muttering to himself about how you can't hurry healing and something about the busybodies of this town. When Jane heard the creaking of Steiner's desk chair as he settled himself in the front office, he tiptoed into the patient room where Teresa had been moved. She was asleep beneath snowy white sheets and a light blanket, her shoulders bare except for the bandaged one on the left. Her long hair framed her pale cheeks, and she looked even whiter against the bright pillowcase beneath her head. He stood a moment, breathing her in, noting the gentle rise and fall of her breasts, grateful beyond measure that she was alive and sleeping peacefully.

He meant only to look in on her, but, sensing his presence, she opened her eyes and smiled.

"Jane," she whispered. "You're here."

He rushed to her side, picking up her right hand and kissing it, his eyes tightly shut. Her hand was warm.

"Yes, my dear. Where else would I be?"

"The school?" she asked hoarsely, challenging him archly. He smiled. She had a hole in her shoulder, and she was still questioning his actions. He brought a cup of water from the bedside table and helped her take a sip. She smiled gratefully, and it was all he could do not to kiss those sweet lips with his own gratitude.

"As a matter of fact, I did leave your side today, I admit. I took your place most of the day at the schoolhouse. It was the most fun I've had in years. Except for last night and early this morning, that is," he amended with a wink. He was pleased to see the familiar flush of color in her wan cheeks.

"Fun?" she said in disbelief, ignoring the reference to their passionate night and morning together. "They behaved themselves for you?"

"Why yes! But they didn't learn much about the three _r's_, I'm afraid. They can show you some amazing card tricks, however."

She closed her eyes in amusement. "Of course they can," she smiled. When she reopened her eyes, he observed the sheen of tears. "Thank you, Patrick. You've set my mind at ease. If you'd just post a note cancelling school for the foreseeable future-"

"What? I most certainly will not! I promised the children I'd be there tomorrow, and I will be, for as long as you need me there. And I promise I'll teach them a little arithmetic tomorrow. There are some fun number puzzles they should find amusing…"

She squeezed his hand, her eyes round in surprise. "You really did enjoy yourself, didn't you?"

She was pleased to see _him_ blush for a change. He sat cautiously on the edge of her bed. "I'm as surprised as you, believe me. I never dreamed I'd be in the front of a classroom. But that Benjamin Jones, he reminds me of myself at his age—just a little too big for his britches."

She chuckled mischievously. "I knew you reminded me of someone. I'm so glad you found a kindred spirit." Jane grinned, recalling his earlier conversation with Benjamin. And as her achingly familiar laugh filled his ears, he could resist no longer, and leaned forward to carefully take her sweet lips with his own.

She gasped a little at the first brief contact, then surprised him by pulling his face closer, her good hand in his hair. Their kiss was filled with the remnants of their fear, the gratitude for their survival, the hope for their future. As her tongue invaded his mouth, he moaned softly, sucking on it briefly before pushing her back into the pillow with renewed ardor, his hands gliding down to cup her bare breasts beneath the bedclothes. But then she gasped in what sounded more like pain than pleasure, and Jane moved abruptly away.

"I'm sorry! How badly did I hurt you?"

"I'm fine. I guess I got a little too carried away. But in case you hadn't noticed, I find you to be completely…irresistible." She smiled shyly at her forward words, but Jane was delighted.

He kissed her softly once more, trying not to touch her anywhere else.

"I feel exactly the same way. Teresa, I—" he began, his heart pounding in his chest. He was going to admit his feelings, just like he'd promised himself he would.

"What are you doing in here?" The feminine voice caught them off guard, and Jane cursed himself for being so focused on Teresa that he forgot to pay attention to his surroundings.

"Kristina," Teresa said, blushing furiously. The woman was dressed in serviceable gray wool, a white ruffled cap atop her unruly red curls, and she was looking upon them with a knowing smile.

"I—this is Mr. Patrick Jane. My uh…boarder. Mr. Jane, may I present Mrs. Kristina Frye."

Jane rose and took her proffered hand. "Mrs. Frye, a pleasure. You must be Teresa's nurse."

The woman raised an eyebrow at Jane's casual use of her friend's Christian name. "Why, yes I am, Mr. Jane. I've heard a lot about you over the last few days. Quite the hero, they're saying now, whereas a few days ago, you were considered quite the troublemaker. Whichever you are, you'd better leave now or Doctor Steiner will have my head."

"Couldn't you turn a blind eye for a little while longer?" Jane asked, giving her his most charming smile. Kristina, unlike most females in Jane's presence, appeared totally immune. She seemed to recognize a con artist when she saw one. Her lips quirked in amusement.

"I predicted that someday you'd meet a handsome stranger who would sweep you off your feet, Teresa, remember? He's quite the charmer, but he won't steer you wrong, once he marries you. You'll see."

"Kristina has always fancied herself gifted with second sight," Teresa explained, embarrassed by her old school friend's words.

"There's no such thing," Jane countered. "People tend to see what they want to see. Anyone can make general statements that could apply to everyone. I used to make my own living that way, telling fortunes in the circus sideshow. It's shows a keen talent for observation, but is by no means a _gift_."

Kristina grinned. "Believe what you like, but you know I'm right, especially when I just witnessed you kissing my friend. All right. I'll let you stay a little longer, but mind you listen for Doctor Steiner. He should be back to check on his patients in a little while. Nice to meet you, Mr. Jane."

"Likewise, Mrs. Frye," he nodded politely, but there was a level of understanding between them that both of them appreciated.

She left them alone, and suddenly the lovers were at a loss for words. The mood broken, Jane couldn't muster the nerve to tell her of his love, so he chatted softly a little more about the children at school. When Teresa began to grow tired, he kissed her again, first on the lips, then upon her sleepy eyelids.

"I'll come back later, if I can sneak in again," he said. "Tomorrow, if you're up to it, I'll see if I can move you back to your own bed. I'll be your nursemaid, if you like." His grin was distinctly naughty, and Teresa smiled in return.

"That sounds nice," she said shyly.

"It's a plan then. Until later…"

"Until later…"

He was loathe to leave her, but he had to make a quick visit to Rigsby to fill him in on the story he'd told LaRoche and Dyson. A professional prevaricator's work was never done.

A/N: This chapter was fun to write, although I know it didn't move things a lot too much plot-wise. I hope you enjoyed it enough anyway to post a review. More soon!


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Many of you who have read my other stories know that I tend to write short, tightly wound stories and I try not to meander too much. But I find myself a little reluctant to leave this little world I've created for our beloved characters, so I hope you will indulge me in this mostly unnecessary chapter. It is basically a series of short scenes, mainly focusing on Jane. There is some plot movement, but for the most part, I'm just finding an excuse to stay in this alternate universe a bit longer. I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter. I'll reply to them very soon.

**Chapter 14**

Jane was able to get a quick word with Rigsby, who lay in the room next to Teresa's. He was very groggy with laudanum, but seemed to understand when Jane filled him in on the story he must tell Dyson whenever Steiner the gatekeeper allowed the marshal to question him. Rigsby expressed concern about the welfare of Grace and Miss Lisbon.

"They're well," Jane reassured him. "Miss Bertram seems particularly worried about you, but Doctor Steiner won't allow visitors."

Even in his slightly addled state, Rigsby looked at Jane pointedly. "How'd _you_ get in here then?"

Jane grinned. "'With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls…'"

Rigsby looked particularly confused by this a moment, then he too smiled. "Aww…you snuck in to see Miss Lisbon, didn't you? You're sweet on her—I knew it."

Jane didn't bother hiding it. "You could say that."

Then Rigsby suddenly remembered what Red John had said about Jane and Miss Lisbon, and their tryst by the river. He blushed in embarrassment, but his protective nature compelled him to ask Jane to explain himself.

"Say, is what Red John said true? About you and…and Miss Lisbon?" Jane looked away, renewed anger at Teresa's mortification tightening his jaw.

"It wasn't like that," Jane said crisply. "That bastard made it sound dirty. It wasn't like that," he repeated, meeting Rigsby's eyes.

Rigsby seemed satisfied by his vehemence in defending her. "I trust you'll do right by her," he warned dangerously.

Jane tried hard to hide his sudden amusement. Rigsby had no doubt had a mild tendre for Miss Lisbon, common enough for teenage boys and their pretty teachers. He and Cho both were both very protective of her. He understood that. There was something vulnerable and sweet behind that sturdy facade she wore. That's one of the things he loved most about her.

"I would never knowingly hurt her," he vowed. Rigsby didn't know it, but Jane had just offered the kind of commitment he hadn't made since he'd married his wife. When Jane said the words, he meant them, which in turn meant that he couldn't leave Teresa now, even if he wanted to. Jane swallowed, for a panicked instant wanting to take his words back. But he found he couldn't; he was all in.

Rigsby nodded once in reply. They were gentlemen and would not speak of the incident again.

The distant sound of feminine distress startled them both.

"My boy! Where is my boy?"

Rigbsy groaned. "That'd be Mama. You think Doc Steiner is mulish…"

Jane chuckled. "Well, I'd better get while the gettin's good. You rest now."

"Please, Jane, don't leave me here alone with her," he begged.

Jane only laughed softly at the otherwise tough deputy's predicament. He'd personally seen him face down and kill bandits, yet the sound of his mother's voice brought true terror to his eyes. Jane slipped quietly out of his room and out the back door, just as Nurse Frye was ushering Mrs. Rigsby in to see her wounded baby boy.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Jane entered Kimball's, the last thing he ever expected was applause and rough pats on the back. Word had spread that Jane had killed the infamous Red John, and he was treated to a hero's welcome. Everyone wanted to buy him a drink, and to hear firsthand how he'd done it. Jane was reluctant to talk about it. He'd been so involved this day with the school children, then the marshal, then Teresa, that he hadn't had time to think about Red John's death much on a personal level. Being a showman, however, he couldn't let down his audience, so, hesitantly at first, he began to speak.

"When Red John shot Miss Lisbon, I knew then I couldn't let him get away again. He'd killed my…my family, and I hadn't been there. Well, I was there now, and I couldn't just stand by and watch him kill again. Deputy Rigsby had loaned me his gun—"

There were several surprised comments regarding that development, but Jane went on, knowing that if he didn't push himself to finish the tale, it would be forever locked inside, where he might never attempt to deal with it again. The saloon crowd gathered round him at the bar, breaths held in anticipation.

"Anyway," he continued, "I'd kept the gun out of sight, inside my coat pocket. So when the bastard got close enough…I fired three times, hitting him in the gut. But I had to make sure he was dead, so I turned him over."

Jane swallowed the lump in his throat; the last thing he wanted to do was cry like a baby in front of these rough men. But talking about it had brought him back to that moment when his heart had pounded like canon fire in his ears as he'd look into the face of his enemy. He glanced up at Cho, who stood behind the bar, and he saw in the man's eyes that he too was reliving his own terrifying moments. Cho nodded in encouragement, and Jane felt his lips tug a little in gratitude.

"Was he dead?" asked one of Miss Hightower's girls breathlessly, who'd paused from her solicitations to listen in.

"No," Jane replied. "And he couldn't believe a peddler had shot him."

There was laughter over this, mainly because the patrons of the saloon had found it hard to believe themselves.

"Then what?" asked an impatient cowboy.

"I shot him in the face," Jane said simply. There were cheers at that statement, and several ordered another round of drinks, while Jane sat quietly, feeling a wave of satisfaction sweeping through him. How many men could say they'd silenced their own demons?

"What were his last words, Mr. Jane?" someone asked. "Did he beg for his life?"

Jane shook his head. "No. He asked me if revenge was sweet."

"And what did you say," inquired Miss Madeleine, who sat on the barstool beside him. He occasionally got a whiff of her rosewater perfume. Jane looked at the beautiful woman, wondering in an instant what she might have become had she not been limited by her station.

"I told him I'd let him know after he was dead." There was a roar of approval, and in the corner, the piano player struck up a jaunty tune. Cho refilled several glasses in celebration. Amid many more slaps on the back, Jane sat and regarded the untouched shot of whiskey someone had set before him.

"So, Mr. Jane," said Madeleine softly near his ear. "Now that the devil is dead, can you answer his question?"

Jane picked up his glass, and for the first time in two years, he partook of strong spirits. He felt the whiskey burn down his throat, then all the way to his stomach, spreading long-forgotten warmth through his veins. A smile lit his face as he felt the new spark of life it ignited within him.

"It is, Miss Madeleine. It's mighty sweet indeed." He set down his glass for a refill, and the scent of roses grew briefly stronger as Miss Madeleine Hightower leaned over and lightly kissed his cheek.

"You tell Miss Lisbon I said I sure hope she gets better soon."

"I'll do that," said Jane.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Seven shots of whiskey later, and Jane was well on his way to becoming rip-roaring drunk. Two years of temperance had left his tolerance level extremely low. Cho managed to discourage Miss Madeleine's ladies from their offers to escort him upstairs, knowing that Miss Lisbon wouldn't approve, and that Jane would likely regret it in the morning. He'd seen for himself how Jane had been so concerned for his former teacher when she'd been shot, sitting in the back of the wagon, holding her hand all the way to the surgery. He didn't want Jane's desire for celebration to ruin his chances with her. He liked Jane; the man knew what he wanted and was determined to get it, and he also wanted Miss Lisbon to finally find the happiness she deserved. So, knowing that Miss Lisbon also disapproved of drinking, Cho soon cut Jane off and started filling his shot glass with sarsaparilla.

"I'm a little home," Jane finally admitted, looking up at Cho with bleary eyes. "Will you take me drunk?"

Cho smirked at his whiskey-induced juxtaposition. "I'll do one better," he offered, supporting the peddler with his strong shoulders and arms. He practically dragged Jane to the back room of the saloon, depositing him on the same cot he'd slept in the night before.

"Thanks, Cho. You're a real pal." He patted the thin mattress fondly. "Hey, I remember this bed. You should really get a bigger one. It's hard for two people to sleep on this. Or not to sleep," he amended with an unmanly giggle.

"Don't vomit on my sheets," Cho ordered, before shutting the door behind him. He paused outside the door, a rare smile bringing forth deep dimples. He was right about Jane and Miss Lisbon. Despite the tawdry picture Red John had painted, Cho knew instinctively that Jane hadn't just taken her for a roll in the tules. There were real feelings there.

"Hey, Cho!" came Jane's slurred call.

"What?" he replied through the door.

"Don't let me sleep past eight o'clock. I have to get up for school." Cho rolled his eyes. _Drunks._

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane awoke with a start, wishing the cot would stop spinning. His hand moved gingerly to fish out his pocket watch, and he slowly opened his eyes to look at the time.

"Eight-thirty? Shit!" He sat up quickly—a mistake—but after a minute he could slide his feet to the floor without moaning. It was a good thing he hadn't eaten since the half a cheese sandwich with Lizzie yesterday, or he'd be in an even worse state. He spent a few valuable minutes in the privy, almost succumbing to the dry heaves, but his desire not to let Teresa down made him try his best to overcome his physical discomfort. He'd never forgive himself if he caused her to lose her job.

As it was, he knew he must smell bad and likely looked worse, so he took off his blood and sweat-stained shirt and vest. He poured water into the washbasin, dousing his head too for good measure. That woke him up some. He washed his chest and armpits, then grabbed a clean shirt from the carpetbag he'd left there. He combed his hair, tugging through the knots as best he could, thinking sadly that he didn't have time for a proper shave. So, despite his pounding head and roiling stomach, Patrick Jane grabbed his hat and a clean frock coat and was ready for school in less than fifteen minutes.

To save time, and since he didn't need to sneak out this morning, he walked out through the saloon, past Cho at the bar, who was drying shot glasses and preparing to open for the morning drinkers. His eyebrows shot up as Jane suddenly rushed out of his room.

"I told you to wake me up at eight!" Jane exclaimed in passing. "I'm late for school!"

"Sorry," Cho called after him, but Jane had already bounded out the swinging wooden doors. "Henpecked," Cho muttered, shaking his head in amusement.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There were twice as many students waiting in front of the school that morning. Word had gotten out that a fun new teacher was substituting for Miss Lisbon, and the town children had rushed to school to meet him. Of course, curiosity that this new teacher had also killed an infamous outlaw the day before had also compelled them to come, anxious to hear a story straight out of a dime novel. Unfortunately, there were also two school board members and a parent awaiting his arrival, and their concerned expressions contrasted sharply with the children's excitement.

Jane excused himself to make his way of the steps to the door, opening it for the students to come in.

"Children," he instructed, "kindly go in and take your seats. I believe I need to have a brief talk with our visitors." They obediently filed in and Jane shut the door behind them, turning to the adults and removing his hat.

"I'm Patrick Jane. Miss Lisbon asked me to fill in for her while she recovers from her…injury. Somethin' I can do for you?"

They introduced themselves, and one of the parents—a woman—had the familiar name of Mrs. Rose. Jane remembered her as the woman who had tattled to the school board that she'd seen Teresa kissing Sam Bosco. His eyes narrowed, and he decided immediately that he didn't like the old busybody.

"Miss Lisbon should have cleared this with the school board, Mr. Jane," said Mr. Hicks, a mild mannered man who held the office of school board president.

"Well, as you have likely heard, she is indisposed at the moment. It was an emergency, so I was more than willing to step in and help. It eased her mind to know someone was looking out for the children."

"You seem to be doing more than your fair share of 'stepping in,'" commented Mrs. Rose. "Only yesterday you _stepped into_ a police matter, and then a few days before you _stepped into_ a saloon brawl. I see no indication that a common peddler is a fit teacher for our students."

"Now Mrs. Rose," replied the other board member, a Mr. Partridge, "Mr. Jane is being lauded a town hero! Why, didn't you see the morning paper?" Partridge was in fact holding a folded copy of _The Sacramento Bee _beneath his arm, and he opened it to the front page. Jane caught a glimpse of his own face staring out from the page, and he groaned internally. "Look here," Partridge continued. "Mr. Mashburn himself called Mr. Jane a—'a fine example of what can be accomplished by the common man.' Now what better teacher for our children than a modern-day hero? But on the other hand, you have to sort of admire the evasiveness of Red John. He got away with all those murders and thefts for years-"

Jane looked in disgust at Partridge. How could anyone but a ghoul find anything admirable about that murderer?

"Let me see that please," interrupted Hicks**, **taking the paper politely. He skimmed through the article a minute, then stopped as he ran across the item he was looking for. Jane tried not to fidget with impatience; he could hear the class chattering boisterously inside. "It says here you were a parent, Mr. Jane."

"Yes," Jane replied softly, hoping Hicks wouldn't ask him more about his daughter. Jane was fairly certain the article detailed his motivation for killing Red John. All Mashburn would have had to do was speak to the sheriff, or anyone who was in the saloon his first day in town.

"That's right," said Partridge, inappropriately excited. "The article says he shot them and cut off your wife's finger for her ring."

Mrs. Rose gasped and fanned her face.

"I lost my Mary to scarlet fever when she was five," said Mr. Hicks quietly, ignoring Partridge's outburst. The others looked away uncomfortably, but Jane held his gaze, both men communicating on a deeper, unspoken level. He glanced wryly at his companion. "Don't mind Mr. Partridge, Mr. Jane; he's the town undertaker."

Jane nodded in understanding. Partridge probably liked his job just a little too much.

"Mrs. Rose, Mr. Partridge**, **I think I'm satisfied that Mr. Jane will be an adequate substitute teacher. My Johnny said he learned a lot about Hercules and Zeus yesterday, as well as how to make a coin disappear. What do you intend to teach today?"

Jane grinned, pleased to have suddenly garnered an ally. "Arithmetic will be my focus. I know a few little tricks I learned to help them arrive at their answers more quickly. Then, I thought I'd tell them the story of Mr. Shakespeare's _A Midsummer Night's Dream._"

"See?" said Hicks to the others.

"Very well," concurred Partridge.

"I'm still not convinced," said Mrs. Rose haughtily to the board members. "Time will tell, I suppose. I'll hold both of you responsible should anything go wrong."

With that, she flounced down the steps toward the buggy they had come in.

"Mr. Jane, please let us know if you should need any help," said Partridge. "And give our regards to Miss Lisbon. We will pay you the usual substitute's rate of five dollars per week."

Jane tried not to smirk. He frequently made that amount in twenty minutes selling his elixirs.

"And on a personal note," Hicks said quietly, so as not to be overheard by Mrs. Rose. "This state owes you a debt of gratitude for putting an end to that bandit's reign of terror. Congratulations, Mr. Jane." They shook hands all around, then the board members touched their hats in farewell.

Jane watched them leave with a smile and a wave, clutching his tightening stomach with one hand. What he wouldn't do for a cup of tea at that moment. And some headache powder. Resigned to going without, he opened the classroom door. Twenty pairs of eyes turned to him and his showman's voice boomed into the room.

"Now, boys and girls…what do you know about the fascinating world of… prime numbers?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane was allowed to visit Teresa that night, and, after an update about the day's class work as well as the visit by the board members, he held her hand in his and leaned down to kiss her.

"I want to go home," she said against his mouth. He smoothed back her hair and smiled gently.

"I know. Tomorrow, said the doctor, if you'll promise to stay in bed at home."

"That's such a long time from now."

He kissed her again as she sighed.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane got directions from Cho to Rigsby's home outside of town and walked the two miles along the river. It felt good to be out of the dusty city. Rigsby had gone home with his mother the day before, and when he knocked on the front door, he was politely told that the deputy was receiving no visitors. Jane thanked the lady and headed for the barn, when suddenly Rigsby's anxious face appeared at an upstairs window.

"Psst! Jane!" he whispered loudly.

Jane leaned his head back, shielding his eyes against the late afternoon sun. He grinned and called out: "Oh, hey, Rigsby! Nice to see you up out of bed."

"Shhh! Hold it down or Mama will hear." He looked behind him anxiously.

Jane laughed, obediently lowering his voice. "I've come to retrieve my horse and wagon. Thank you for boarding them for me."

"Glad I could help. Listen, have you seen Grace—uh, Miss Bertram?"

"Not lately."

"Dammit," Rigsby muttered. "Well, if you do see her, tell her…" he paused, searching for the right words. "Tell her I'll be by to call on her as soon as I can. Tell her…"

"You love her—I will," Jane finished for him. Even from that distance, Jane could see the man blushing.

"Thanks, Jane. Oh, and tell Miss Lisbon I said hey."

"Of course. Good-bye Rigsby."

"Bye, Jane!"

Within the house, Jane could hear Rigsby's mother's angry voice. "Whatever are you doing out of bed, Wayne Rigsby? Come away from that window before you catch your death! Now get back in this bed this instant before you open your stitches!" Rigsby's face abruptly disappeared from the window.

Jane chuckled in amused sympathy and went off in search of his property.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That evening, after a hearty meal at The Silver Dollar, Jane moved back into Teresa's house. No more drinking for him, and while he was grateful for Cho's hospitality at the saloon, he was definitely looking forward to Teresa's large bathtub and soft bed.

In the middle of the night, when he couldn't sleep, Jane took his lamp and went into Teresa's empty bedroom. It smelled of her, and his heart squeezed a little with longing. He picked up a length of red ribbon from atop her bureau and smiled, rubbing its satiny texture against his newly shaved cheek. He lay down upon Teresa's bed, imagining all the things he would do with her there when she came home, the many ways he would make her cry out his name. He grinned at the thought, and gradually felt himself relaxing into the down mattress. He drifted off to sleep, his head on her pillow, the red ribbon coiled about his finger.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next day at school, his mind tended to wander back to the thought that Teresa would be coming home that afternoon, so that by three o'clock, he left the schoolhouse nearly as quickly as the students did. Along the way, he ducked behind hedges and crept behind trees in order to steal the best flowers from the yards along the way. By the time he got to Dr. Steiner's office, he had an impressive bouquet of tulips, roses, and irises.

He breezed past Steiner, not even pausing to engage in their usual acerbic banter, and went back to Teresa's room. She was not alone. Grace Bertram and Kristina Frye were visiting her, and the three women were laughing and talking like schoolgirls. Jane should know; he'd had to separate three female students that very morning for giggling too loudly. He tried to mask his disappointment that he couldn't grab her and kiss her senseless like he'd planned.

"Well, good afternoon, ladies. Nice to see Miss Lisbon hasn't been languishing here all by her lonesome."

The nurse and the redhead looked first at Teresa, then at each other knowingly, causing the color to rise in Teresa's cheeks as she met his sparkling blue eyes.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Jane," said Mrs. Frye.

"Mr. Jane," Grace nodded.

He grinned at the scene, then presented his gift to Teresa with a flourish. The other women gushed their approval of the lovely bouquet, and Teresa brought the flowers to her nose, sniffing in appreciation. She was sitting up and looking much better, the heightened color in her cheeks making her appear perfectly well, and delicately beautiful.

"Thank you, Mr. Jane," she said, and her small smile made him feel drunk all over again.

He didn't miss Grace's inadvertent glance at the far corner of the room, and he followed her gaze to a much larger bouquet, housed in an ornate glass vase. Jane's eyes narrowed. Who else was giving his woman flowers?

"Oh, those are from Mr. Mashburn, from the newspaper," said Teresa nonchalantly. "He stopped by earlier to ask me some questions for a follow-up article he's writing."

"Did he now," said Jane, his jaw clenched in annoyance.

He tore his eyes from Mashburn's flowers and tried to ignore the amused grins of Grace and the Frye woman.

"That was a very nice picture of you in the paper yesterday," commented Nurse Frye. "You're a hero, it seems."

Jane snorted derisively. "I did what I had to do. A man who puts down a rabid dog doesn't get written up in the papers."

"It was a little more than that," said Grace quietly. She'd been there after all, watched one suitor die by another one's hand. They were all still somewhat shell shocked, he, Teresa, and Grace.

"Well, I must go check on our other patient," Mrs. Frye said. "Little Jesse Winthrop had his appendix out this morning."

"Aww," said Jane. "That's why he wasn't in school." Mrs. Frye raised a surprised eyebrow.

"Tell him I'm praying for him," Teresa called after her.

"Well, I should be going too, Miss Lisbon," said Grace, rising to her feet. She took Teresa's hand. "Be well, ma'am. And—"she leaned down to whisper in Teresa's ear—"don't let this one get away. He's such a gentleman, and I see how he looks at you."

Teresa flushed anew, but thanked her former student kindly. If only she knew how very _un_-gentlemanly Patrick Jane could be.

"Let me escort you out, Miss Bertram," offered Jane. He smiled at Teresa wickedly, as if reading her unladylike thoughts, then indicated that he'd be back in a moment.

"I have a message for you, from Deputy Rigsby," he said when he and Grace were alone in the hallway.

"Oh! How is he?"

"Recovering well, I believe, under his mama's very attentive care."

"I tried to visit him earlier today, but she would have none of it. Said I should be ashamed, that it was unseemly for a young woman to be visiting the sick room of a man who was not her husband. The very gall of that woman! Why, Wayne's a grown man!"

Jane smiled in full agreement. "Nevertheless, he respects his mother's wishes; that kind of man should make a very good husband one day."

Grace averted her eyes shyly. "What was his message, Mr. Jane?"

"He says he will be by to call as soon as he is able, and that he loves you very much. So much, in fact, that he is nearly going out of his mind from missing you."

Her eyes shot up to his. "He said that?"

"Those were his exact words," Jane lied unabashedly.

She smiled happily. "I can't wait to see him! Thank you, Mr. Jane!" And in her happiness, she bestowed an impulsive kiss upon his cheek. He grinned at her exuberance.

"My pleasure, Miss Bertram." He walked her a little farther away from Teresa's room. "I do have a special favor to ask of you."

"Why, I would be honored to help you in any way I can, Mr. Jane. You just name it."

"Well…I've committed to looking after Miss Lisbon's students, so I won't be at the boarding house most of the day, and I feel someone should be there with her should she need help while I'm gone."

"Of course! I'll come first thing in the morning."

"She's likely to be resistant, Miss Bertram. You've known her long enough to see how stubborn and annoyingly self-reliant she can be."

Grace nodded in complete understanding. "Yes, I do know this. I'll tell her I'm there for a visit."

Jane chuckled. "That should work for the first hour, but she'll catch on quickly."

"You let me deal with Miss Lisbon. Since I can't be there to help Wayne, I'll throw all my energies into taking care of her. I can be stubborn too when I want to be."

Jane took her hand and kissed it in gratitude. "Thank you, Miss Betram. That is a load off my mind. But now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I need to arrange our patient's homecomin'. Good-day, Miss Bertram."

"Until tomorrow, Mr. Jane."

Jane popped back in to tell Teresa he was off to fetch his wagon from the stables to take her home. She smiled softly at him, and it was all he could do not to pick her up that instant and carry her all the way home.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He'd made her ride in the back of the wagon, and she lay there in her own soft quilts, complaining all the way home that she was perfectly capable of sitting up on the front seat with him. Dr. Steiner had been reluctant to release Teresa to Jane's care, but he'd obediently repeated the old man's instructions that her wound be kept cleaned, her bandages changed often, and that she be kept from any rigorous sort of activity. Jane couldn't help twisting the doctor's tail one last time by putting a lecherous emphasis on the word _rigorous._ Kristina Frye laughed aloud at the doctor's shocked expression, stifling herself quickly at his disapproving glare. Jane fairly beamed.

"I'll be around to check on you, Teresa, so you need not fear being alone with this nefarious character for long,"said her nurse dryly, as Jane prepared to bear her out to his wagon.

"As will I, Miss Lisbon," Dr. Steiner echoed, shooting a warning look at Jane. He handed a bottle of laudanum to her new nurse, cautioning again to limit her use of the potent and addictive painkiller. Jane had a gut feeling his tough little charge would refuse all painkillers once out of the doctor's care. Like him, she didn't like feeling out of control of her own body. His recent experience with too much alcohol only reaffirmed that for him.

"Thank you, Doctor…Kristina. You saved my life." She reached out to touch their hands.

Kristina smiled at her friend, and Steiner made a rather incoherent grunt that Jane took to mean _you're welcome._

Not soon enough for Jane, he pulled up to Teresa's house and hopped down to the street, climbing in back of the covered wagon to gather the invalid into his arms.

"Jane, I'm perfectly capable of walk—"

He interrupted her protest with a deep, mind-numbing kiss, leaving them both dazed and speechless. She offered no more objections as he carried her to the door, heedless of the gawking neighbors who peered out their windows in awe. Teresa only had eyes for Jane as he held her gently to his body, wrapped in her quilts like a sleeping child. He carried her all the way to her room where he'd thoughtfully drawn back her sheets and laid her tenderly on the soft bed. When he moved to leave her alone, she reached her right hand up to grab his.

"Where are you going?" she asked with dreamy eyes. Jane swallowed at the flash of desire he'd seen clearly written on her lovely face.

"I need to get your things from the wagon and drive it back to the stables for the night. You'll be all right for a little while, won't you?"

"Stay," she whispered. "Just for a minute."

"All right," he said hesitantly, painfully aware that they were completely alone for the first time in days. He took off his coat and moved to sit in the rocking chair near her bed.

"No," Teresa clarified, patting the bed. "Sit here beside me."

He raised an eyebrow, suddenly amused at her forwardness, despite his pounding heart.

"You sure know how to tempt a man," he admonished with a shaky grin, kicking off his boots and climbing onto her bed. She snuggled her right side into his warm body, and he gingerly pulled her close, avoiding her bandaged shoulder beneath her thin lawn gown.

"Thank you for bringing me home," she murmured into his chest. He chastely kissed the top of her head, but that wasn't at all what she wanted. She arched her neck back to look at him, her green eyes deep and inviting. She caressed his cheek and slowly pulled his face down to hers.

"I've missed you," he said, before his lips claimed hers. "Missed this."

He closed his eyes and succumbed to the temptation of her mouth, while Teresa's wandering hands moved to the buttons on his vest.

A/N: Another little cliffie of sorts, but I'll continue this scene in the next chapter, I promise. I'll write faster if you leave a review, lol. Thanks for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Hello! I'd like to start out by thanking you wonderful readers for making this my most reviewed story ever! I'm just so overwhelmed with gratitude and can't believe so many of you have taken the time to post your reviews. You are truly fabulous! Now, this chapter is EXTRA long (for your pleasure, lol), and also contains a big helping of rated "M" material, so be warned (or rejoice, whatever the case may be;). It's blatantly mushy and romantic, (sorry BFangz) but it does in fact advance the plot for a change. Hope you like it.

**Chapter 15**

Jane allowed Teresa to remove his vest, allowed her to open his blue shirt to caress his defined muscles, but when her dainty fingers trailed down to his trousers, he stayed her hand. His harsh breathing filled her bedroom, and he wanted her more than anything in this Red John-free world, but he couldn't—_they_ couldn't—do this. Not now.

"Stop, Teresa," he said, his voice gone hoarse with need.

"What?" she panted, cupping him gently beneath his hand.

Jane sucked in a breath, then moved her hand firmly away. Her glassy eyes shot up to his.

"You're injured; this could open up your wound, could set back your recovery."

"Let me be the judge of—"

"No!" He bit out the word more harshly than he'd intended, but she had him on the edge of his control already, and they weren't even naked yet. He brought up her chin and kissed her surprised lips. "I'm sorry, but I'm not gonna risk it. I'm afraid I won't be gentle enough…"

"You were very gentle with me the other night," began the seductive little minx, moving closer to him again, her long eyelashes framing her lovely eyes. His heart skipped a little beat, but he steeled himself against her powerful hold on him.

Jane forced his mouth into his best, indulgent smile. "At first I was, if you recall. As things…progressed, I know I must have been a little rough." He watched her face go pink in shared remembrance. "What can I say, sweetheart, you're like a prize filly, made for hard riding." His eyes were sparkling with laughter now, and Teresa gasped with indignation. She pushed him away with her good arm, spitting mad, just as he'd intended.

"Patrick Jane," she growled. "You did _not_ just compare me to a horse!" He rolled off the bed and stood up, the beauty of her anger actually making him grow harder, his naked chest visibly heaving within his unbuttoned shirt. He groaned internally, but knew this was what was best for her right now. When she was fully healed, well, all bets were off.

"Sorry, but I like my women and my horses to be sturdy and resilient-two things you aren't exactly at the moment, my dear, no offense. Now, if you'll excuse me, ma'am" he continued, bending to pick up his boots and head for the door, "I need to get my _other_ filly to the stables—"

Her face contorted with rage, she grabbed the first thing that came to her hand from the side of the bed—an empty drinking glass. He caught sight of it out of the corner of his eye and barely had time to duck before it smashed into the door above him, breaking into a million pieces. They stared at each other in some surprise at what she'd done, but then he rose again to his full height and smirked arrogantly, before reaching out for the door knob. He hoped she didn't see how his hand shook.

"You rest now. I'll be back before you can say _giddy up_."

He shut the door just in time. He didn't know what she'd thrown, but it was loud…and heavy.

"Don't bother coming back!" she yelled shrewishly through the door. He stood a moment, grinning at her fiery sendoff. _God, I love that woman._

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Teresa lay in bed, fuming with righteous indignation at his insulting words. After a few minutes, she heard the front door close, and she was alone. How dare he treat her like that, after all she'd been through? Why, she'd _shot_ a man for him, and then taken a bullet herself for it, and when she wanted to further show her love, he'd rejected and insulted her, in her own bed, no less. Her shoulder ached from throwing things at him, even though she'd used her other arm, which unaccountably increased her annoyance with him.

But as her pulse slowed and her brain cleared from residual anger and arousal, she began to realize what he'd been doing by refusing her advances. Jane really _had_ been trying to protect her. He'd always shown her great respect and care, had been so tender the first time they'd made love, trying not to hurt her then. He'd said as much now, she supposed, but she'd been so caught up in the moment, in what _she_ wanted, that she had been momentarily blinded to what _he_ might be feeling.

Teresa was new at the game of love, and she smiled wryly to herself that things had been much simpler being a confirmed spinster. Well, she was a woman who knew herself well, knew what she could and could not bear. And if this thing with Jane was going to work, she'd have to help him understand her a little better. She had no doubt he'd be back, despite her command to the contrary, and when he returned, she would be waiting for him. She'd convince him that she was no China doll, and while things could not be as—what was Dr. Steiner's word?—_rigorous_ as either of them would like right now, she still very much wanted him in her bed. The man was already firmly entrenched in her heart.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane gave Teresa an hour to cool down, taking his time to curry his horse, smiling in remembrance of her reaction to the comparison between them. But really, Becky here was a beautiful animal, chocolate brown, like Teresa's hair. The irises were a different color, but both ladies had deep, expressive eyes capable of seeing into a man's soul.

"Now don't you get offended, girl," he said, meeting that uncannily knowing gaze. "You should consider it quite a compliment to be compared to the lovely Miss Lisbon." He grinned and gave this particular filly an extra handful of oats.

"If only it were that easy to have Teresa eating out of my hand," he mused. He patted Becky's neck once more, then retrieved the flowers he'd brought her from the wagon, along with the small bag of personal items she'd had at the surgery. Jane slowly strolled back through town toward the boarding house, stopping along the way to respond to the polite inquiries and nods of the good people of Sacramento.

He'd only ever been in the papers when the circus was coming to town. He used to like the fame of it, the advertisements extolling the amazing abilities of "The Boy Wonder," but now he'd prefer to slip quietly back into the safety of anonymity. He'd killed a notorious killer and thief, but he'd neither done it altruistically nor for the fame. He'd wanted revenge, pure and simple, and now that he'd gotten it, he just wanted to put that part of his life in the past and move on. With Teresa. The thought of her laying in that bed, all alone and helpless, made him suddenly pick up his pace, anxious to see her, to take care of her, to love her.

He opened the front door quietly, fearful of waking her if she slept. The wooden floor creaked a little as he walked toward her bedroom, and he wished he'd taken off his boots first thing. The door to her room was wide open, and her bed was unmade, the imprint of her head on the pillow, but Teresa wasn't there. He noticed the glass had been swept away, and he cursed himself for leaving without doing that himself. It must have hurt like hell to sweep and to bend like that.

"Teresa?" he called, setting down her things. He searched the rooms downstairs, but they were all empty. He eyed the stairs, annoyed that she had obviously climbed them on her own when she should have been resting in bed. He took the steps two at a time, and on the second floor landing, he called her name again. She wasn't in any of the bedrooms, but he noted with a start that the bathroom door was shut. _She wouldn't, _he thought anxiously. The tub was deep and difficult enough to climb into without a bad shoulder. What if she had slipped and fallen? What if she were in there, drowning? If only Jane had known Teresa had had similar worries about him just days before.

He rapped on the door. "Teresa? You all right in there?"

"Well…I'm not quite sure how to answer that," came the muffled reply.

"What? I'm coming in." He took a deep breath, turned the knob, and pushed open the door.

The bathroom was lit with candles, scenting the air with the sweet fragrance of beeswax. The curtains were drawn against the early evening light, and his eyes went at once to the claw foot tub in the center of the room. It was half-full of steaming water, but no Teresa. His gaze darted around the room in a minor panic until it alighted upon who he could only assume was Teresa, sitting on a chair in the shadows. There was no doubt it was a woman, for she was naked from the waist down. Her nightgown was bunched up and twisted around her arms and her head, covering her face completely. As he moved farther into the bathroom, he finally realized what he was seeing, and he burst out laughing.

"Oh, hush! It's not that funny!"

Jane clutched his stomach. "Oh…but…it …is! How in the hell did this happen?"

"I was trying to be seductive and take off my gown myself, but I couldn't move my shoulder and then it hurt and I just got…stuck." She was rambling in her frustration.

His laughter died at once. "You're hurting? Here, I'm sorry; let me help you." He rushed at once to her side, concerned now, but still seeing the humor in the situation. He examined her web of soft cotton, trying to decide the best way to untangle her, but unable to focus completely on the problem, what with the smooth belly, the creamy thighs, and the thatch of dark hair beckoning him.

"You know, some men would prefer their women this way…"he said, trying not to laugh again.

"Shut up and get me out of this predicament, Jane, or so help me God—"

"All right, all right. Don't get your nightie in a bunch."

"Jane!" she growled.

He did laugh, but this time, he went into action too, realizing very quickly that the only way to get her out of this mess without hurting her more was to cut her out.

"Stay here," he said.

"Oh, very funny. Where are _you_ going?" She asked, her annoyance increasing.

"I'll be back in a moment."

Jane headed for the door and for the parlor downstairs where Teresa kept her sewing basket. He ran back up the stairs again—mindful of the scissors—and re-entered the bathroom.

"I'm sorry sweetheart, but you're gonna have to lose a nightgown," he cautioned.

She sighed. "You don't think you can just untangle my arms…?"

"I could, but I'd likely tear open your stitches or make you pass out from the pain. Now, be a good girl and hold still."

She felt the cold metal of the scissors against her skin, and shivered a little. It did wonderful things for her lower body, and Jane closed his eyes a moment to collect himself. Resolutely, he forced himself to begin cutting methodically at the lightweight fabric, but when his hands settled on the exposed skin beneath her breasts to keep her still, he faltered a little and she jumped in pain.

"Careful!" she gasped.

He swallowed. "Sorry."

A few careful cuts later, and she was free from her restraints. Jane tossed the ruined garment to the floor and Teresa looked down at it in dismay.

"That was my best nightgown," she said mournfully. "I saved my money for a year and ordered it from a Parisian catalog Kristina loaned me." But Jane was no longer looking at her damaged night rail, he was staring in rapt fascination at the naked body of the woman he loved.

It had been easier for Teresa to forget she was half-naked when her head was covered, but now that she was free, she blushed scarlet, bringing her hands to her breasts and crossing her legs- a sad attempt at modesty.

"Too late for that, I'm afraid," whispered Jane tightly. Her dark hair had fallen around her shoulders, concealing her wound, and Jane moved her hair with an unsteady hand so he could look. Sure enough, blood had seeped into the bandage.

"Dammit," he swore, unwrapping the long strip of linen from where it had been wrapped several times around her shoulder and under her arm. He was relieved to see that while there was some bleeding, the stitches were holding. He'd just have to clean it and put on a new bandage.

"I'm sorry," she said, hearing his angry tone. She hated the frustrated tears that filled her eyes. "I was doing all this for you."

He looked up from her stitched skin. "_For me_?"

"Yes, you idiot. I wanted to show you that I _was_ sturdy and resilient. But look at me. You were right. You may as well put me out to pasture with the rest of the worthless—"

Jane bit back a laugh. "Stop it. You're injured, not worthless. Besides, you'll be saddle worthy in no time."

This time, they looked at each other and burst out laughing. He wiped Teresa's tears with his thumb, unsure whether they were from laughter or pain.

"Please, no more horse metaphors, I beg you," she gasped, for it hurt even more when she laughed. "I'll rip a stitch for sure. Besides, what you said earlier was very mean. If you didn't want to be with me, you need only have said so."

"You're right; I _was_ mean. Forgive me. I—I haven't done this in awhile. Any of this. I'm out of practice. And it isn't that I don't want to be with you. It isn't that at all." His eyes swept over her lovely figure and his voice dropped to a strained whisper, his hands itching to touch her. "It's that I want you…too much."

Her nudity mostly forgotten (at least by her), Teresa reached up her hand to touch Jane's slightly rough cheek. "After you left, I realized that." She sighed, closing her eyes briefly against the onslaught of sparkling blue. "I suppose you're right. I can wait if you can. In the meantime, would you kindly help me get into that infernal bathtub? I really don't know what I was thinking. There's no way I could get in and out of that thing without help, and I would dearly love a bath." Her green eyes beckoned and appealed, and naturally, Jane could deny her _almost_ nothing.

He smiled, looking from her to the tub and back again, considering. "All right, your wound needs to be cleaned anyway. But we have to be careful not to get it too water logged. I don't fancy another reamin' out by stodgy old Steiner."

She chuckled. "I don't know why you don't like poor Dr. Steiner. He's quite kind when you least expect it."

Jane bent over to lift Teresa from the chair, and his thought processes came to a skittering halt the moment he felt her bare body in his arms. He looked down at her face and couldn't resist the invitation of her mouth. _Just one kiss,_ he said to himself. _Just one, and I'll stop._

The one kiss turned into a very _long _kiss, and Teresa had to be the one to pull away. "If you don't stop kissing me like that, Dr. Steiner will have both our heads," she said breathlessly.

The vision of the doddering old man was as good as a splash of cold water, and Jane shook his head a little, grinning at how quickly he had fallen under the spell of her lips.

"You're right. No more of that." He walked slowly with his precious bundle to the bathtub, allowing her to dip a toe in first to test the temperature.

"Perfect," she grinned, and then she sighed as he set her gently into the warm water. He put the soap and a washcloth in her hand, then made his way back to her abandoned chair to sit and enjoy the show.

She looked over at him. "You're not going to watch me wash, are you?"

"Well, yes, I thought I would, in case you need help, of course."

"I know how to yell, Jane," she said suspiciously. "You may wait outside the door."

"Oh, come on, Teresa. You can't very well un-ring _that_ bell," he reasoned, nodding at her nudity on full display.

She thought about it a moment, then her grin turned downright wicked, and Jane was suddenly reconsidering his suggestion as she began lathering her hands with the soap. "Very well. You may stay. But you must stay in your chair, no matter what happens."

"What could possibly—" He ended his question on a gulp when she began washing her breasts with one hand, taking an inordinately long time to do so, swirling the soap around one rosy tip, cupping its slight weight in her hand as she cleansed the underside before moving slowly to the other. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, as she took the wet washcloth in her hand, repeating the process with the rinsing. She lay back against the lip of the tub, then moved down to wash her stomach. He found himself stretching his body upwards to better see her progress, and when her hands slipped beneath the water, he groaned aloud.

Her eyes flew to his as she washed herself, and she gasped a little as she hit a particularly sensitive area. He was at her side in an instant, rolling up his sleeves to "help."

"I thought I told you not to get up," she whispered. He glanced wryly down to the bulging front of his trousers.

"Too late for that, too, I'm afraid. Here…you're gonna need help washin' some hard-to-reach areas..." She handed him the soap, and he grinned at her knowing look. He wasn't fooling her. He soaped up his hands and tended first to the gash on her shoulder, careful not to disturb the neat stitches, then washed that arm for her, loving the sensation of her soft, wet skin beneath his hands. His hands glided down to rest between her breasts.

"I already washed there," she grinned, while at the same time she felt her heart picking up speed.

"Oh, sorry." He went on to wash her other arm, then her neck, her legs and feet, then leaned her forward to wash her back.

"I'm afraid we forgot to pin up your hair," he said.

"It could use a wash anyway," she ventured shyly. "But it might be difficult using only one hand."

"I'd be happy to wash your hair for you, Miss Lisbon," he said, sounding almost as if he were offering her a cup of tea. "If you'll just lay back and wet it for me—mind your injury now."

He watched in fascination as she slid under the water, shaking her head a little to dampen every strand. He looked down the length of her body, at the sensual way her back arched, the way one delicate knee rose above the water, and wondered why he was continuing to torture himself in this manner. She sat up slowly, the water running in rivulets down her face and chest. He soaped up his hands with the lavender bar, and plunged them into the sodden ropes of her hair. She sighed luxuriantly as he gently massaged her scalp, then lathered the length of it. Her little sounds of pleasure were driving him slowly insane.

"Rinse," he croaked finally. She did so, and he was treated once again to the erotic undulations of her body beneath the water. She smiled at him upon remerging, wiping the water from her bright green eyes.

"Your shirt's all wet," she commented. He didn't even look down, captured as he was by the devilish glint in her eyes.

"So it is."

"You know," she ventured, holding his soapy hand to her breast. "Someone once told me this tub was big enough for two. It would be a shame to waste all this hot water."

"Teresa—" he warned.

"Come on in. The water is fine…"

"It _would_ be a waste…" he said, as if seriously considering getting in that tub for the purpose of conserving water.

"All right, I'll get in. But nothing…rigorous." She laughed under her breath and moved to the other end of the tub, turning on the spigot to allow more hot water to pour in.

She watched in flushed delight as he began undressing. He didn't even bother unbuttoning his wet shirt all the way, just slipped it over his head before attacking the buttons on his trousers. In no time at all, Jane was joining her in the tub, and she found he was indeed correct—there was more than enough room for two.

They sat facing each other in the slowly rising water, hesitating, contemplating what could happen in this tub if they let it.

"Hand me that soap, woman," he said gruffly.

"No," she refused. "Allow me." She grabbed the soap from its little dish and began lathering her hands.

"Teresa…not a good idea."

"Hush," she said, moving to kneel between his stretched out legs. And then the torture truly began. She rubbed the fragrant suds into his chest, admiring the feel of his smooth muscles beneath her hands. He moaned in bliss and closed his eyes, leaning against the back of the tub to allow her better access. She soaped his arms and neck, then abruptly went to his legs, bending each one out of the water and swirling her fingers experimentally in the hair on his thighs. He actually felt them trembling, as if he'd spent a long day in the saddle.

He laughed suddenly at the forbidden horse metaphor and she paused in her work, looking up at his smiling face.

"What's going on in that devious little mind of yours, Patrick Jane?"

"You don't want to know," he said confidently, eyes still closed. He waved an expectant hand. "Pray, continue my bath, wench."

He sat up, sputtering when the unexpected splash hit him in the face. "What the hell was that for?" he said, shaking his wet hair out of his eyes.

When he opened them again, she was much closer that he expected, and his eyes widened comically.

"Show some respect, Mr. Jane," she said, her hand moving to firmly grip his erection. "I have your very life in my hand."

The air hissed between his teeth as she began to stroke him, her face still close to his.

"Awww…God, Teresa, what are you doin' to me? We shouldn't-" Then his mouth was imprisoning hers, his tongue moving in time to the motion of her hand. His hands slid down to her waist and he lifted her to settle her onto his hardness, and she gasped as she felt him slowly filling her, stretching her, taking him to the hilt. Her right hand moved to rest on the side of the tub for balance, and then he lifted her again, both of them moaning as she slid back home. He controlled her movements with his hands to keep the weight off of her upper body, his hips rising to meet her. The water lapped around them, splashing dangerously close to the top as the tub kept filling.

Jane felt the pressure building inside of him, his harsh cries spurring her on until she was literally riding him—nothing metaphoric about it. They found release simultaneously, one climax feeding the other until they were quivering almost unbearably in the aftermath. Jane sat up and gathered her tenderly against him, kissing the top of her wounded shoulder, then moving to the warm, wet nape of her neck.

"I love you," he said close to her ear. The moment he said the words, he felt a different, even more exciting thrill of release. "And I think you'd better turn off the water now before we flood the entire bathroom."

"What?" she said, drawing back from his arms.

"I think you'd better turn the—" he began, his blue eyes shining, deliberately misunderstanding her.

"No, the—the first thing you said."

"I'm in love with you, Teresa Lisbon," he said simply, touching her damp hair adoringly. "And I really think you'd better turn off—"

She silenced his words with a kiss that sent him slipping to the back of the tub again, more water flowing over the sides with their sudden movements. He became lost in the sensation of her lips, her body moving against his, until the sound of water hitting the floor became an unavoidable interruption. He sat up again and pushed her gently back toward the spigot to turn it off, laughing as she struggled to find the plug at the bottom of the tub. The water levels began to lower at once and they sat facing each other again, wiping water from their eyes.

"You love me?" she asked shyly, her cheeks rosy with heat, exertion, and something else he was almost too afraid to identify.

"Yes," he told her, reaching beneath the water for her hands. "But, more importantly, how do you feel about me?" He looked so boyish and unusually unsure of himself, that she leaned forward and kissed him softly on the cheek.

"I love you too,"she whispered. "I'm not sure how it happened so quickly, but it did."

Jane heard his heart pounding in his ears. He felt ecstatic and terrified at the same time. He was in love with someone other than his wife, and that someone loved him in return. It was incredible. It was unbelievable. It was…a gift. _She_ was a gift. His gift for the pain of the last two years, his gift for killing the devil. At least, that's how Jane decided to look at it, and he'd forgotten how wonderful it was to receive gifts.

"It's a gift," he said out loud, leaning his forehead against hers. "Let's not question it."

He found her lips and pressed a chaste kiss there. She shivered beneath his hands, and for a moment he thought it was from the emotion of the moment, but then he felt the goose flesh upon her arms. The water had nearly drained out, and they were sitting in a rapidly cooling tub.

"You're cold," he realized. "Stay here—don't try to get out." He gave her another smacking kiss, then climbed out of the bathtub, stepping into a puddle of water. Teresa peeked over the side and grimaced.

"What a mess!" she gasped, but then her eyes rested on the perfection that was his muscled behind, and she blushed, yet couldn't resist admiring the view.

"Well, I'm in a bit of a pickle here," he said, holding up his dripping clothes from their place on the floor.

She grinned. "Sorry," she said, though she wasn't at all.

Jane did his best to mop up the worst of the flooding, having to use all the dry toweling along with the rug, aware that her eyes followed his every move. Finally, he grabbed her wrapper that was hanging on a hook on the back of the door, and he hung up his sodden clothes in its place. She stood up in the tub and he held the robe open for her, helping her put her hands in the sleeves, then he picked her up and carried her, totally naked himself, out of the bathroom and down the stairs to her bedroom. They both laughed when he realized the curtains at the front windows were wide open, and anyone could see them from the street. He ducked—as if that would make a difference—and streaked past the windows, Teresa laughing so hard her shoulder hurt. He lay her down gently and grabbed the quilt folded at the foot of the bed to wrap around his hips.

"You know," she ventured thoughtfully, her eyes still shining with mirth, "you could have run across the hall upstairs and gotten some dry clothes from your room."

He laughed sexily. "I know, but then we would have missed out on all of this fun and excitement."

He crawled up to join her at the head of the bed, moving to kiss her again as she laughed. "That's what's in store for us now, Teresa. Fun and excitement."

She didn't doubt it a bit.

Xxxxxxxxx

Morning light shone in on the flowers Jane had placed on Teresa's bedside table. The smell of roses had awakened her, as well as the pain in her shoulder from all their rigorous behavior the night before. She'd refused the laudanum Jane had offered her, not wanting to become too dependent upon it. But her shoulder was so stiff this morning beneath her fresh bandages that she knew she'd break down and ask for some. She must have shifted a little against Jane's chest, for she felt him awaken.

"Good morning, my love," he whispered against her hair.

She smiled against his warm skin, then grimaced and let out a little noise of pain. He was immediately concerned and pulled gently away.

"Are you all right?" he asked, looking worriedly down at her shoulder, searching for the telltale seepage.

"Yes, just a little sore I suppose."

"I'll get you some medicine," he said, moving to get out of bed.

"In a minute. That will put me right back to sleep, and I want to talk a little before you go to the schoolhouse."

"I don't like to see you in pain, Teresa," he said, reluctantly lying down again.

"I was just wondering about those flowers you gave me yesterday," she said, her fingers playing absently with his tousled curls. "They look very familiar to me."

"Hmm," he said noncommittally.

"Especially those pink roses. You know, Mrs. Gable has roses exactly like that growing by her front gate."

"Really," he said innocently. She moved to look at his face.

"What's more, those bright red tulips are uncannily similar to the ones in Mrs. Long's garden. And those irises—old Mr. Heller's, right? I pass by their homes every day on my way to school, Jane."

"You don't say? What a coincidence."

"You stole these flowers, Jane," she said, feeling amused and exasperated at the same time. Sometimes she couldn't believe his audacity.

"Do flowers really belong to anyone, Teresa? The Indians believe things of the earth belong to everyone."

"The Indians obviously haven't met Mr. Heller," she said dryly. "And it's a wonder _you _didn't meet his shotgun. I've seen him threatening school children with it when they wandered into his beloved garden."

Jane shrugged. "It would have been worth it to see the smile on your face when I gave them to you," he said fondly, kissing her forehead.

She made a scoffing noise, then a mischievous smile formed on her lips. "Well, it was nice of you to bring them from Dr. Steiner's so I can admire my purloined bouquet while I recover. I don't see Mr. Mashburn's lovely flowers here, however."

"They wouldn't fit in the back of the wagon," he said gruffly, annoyance practically oozing from every pore.

Her grin widened. "Still…he was also very thoughtful to have brought them. What did you do with them, Jane?"

"I left them at Dr. Steiner's. I'm sure they'll brighten someone else's day." Jane recalled how lovely they'd looked on top of Steiner's rubbish heap. Seeing them there had definitely brightened _his_ day.

"What's goin' on between you and Mashburn anyway? He sure acts like he knows you."

_Awww…now we get to the crux of the matter, _thought Teresa in amusement. _He's jealous._

"He once attempted to court me," she said casually.

"What?"

"For exactly two weeks last summer, he brought me flowers or some other little trinket every evening, and we'd sit on the porch swing and drink lemonade. He even stole a kiss once."

"What?" Jane repeated.

"He's very charming, and wealthy too, so I hear. I couldn't believe my luck. The whole town was abuzz—_Miss Lisbon finally caught herself a husband_, they were saying."

Jane swallowed, not liking where this story was going one bit. "What happened?" he asked, his voice going slightly higher, breaking a little bit as it did sometimes when he was feeling particularly emotional.

"Mrs. Bajoran became a widow," she said softly, remembering how disappointed she'd felt when, without warning, Walter's visits had just…stopped. "Word was, they'd been engaged, up until that Russian, Yuri Bajoran, came to town. He'd struck gold and started a rival newspaper here in Sacramento—Walter's first real competition. Walter said Marie was dazzled by his foreign accent and deep pockets. She broke her engagement with Walter and married Mr. Bajoran. But then, six years later, Yuri Bajoran died in the fire that burned down his newspaper office. Everyone thought it was very suspicious, and Walter was suspected."

"Mashburn murdered Bajoran to get his wife for himself, and eliminated the competition," Jane said. "I could see that."

Teresa chuckled. "Me too, I suppose, but it was ruled an accident, and Marie and Walter caused quite the scandal, marrying well before her year of mourning was over. Needless to say, my spinster status remained quite intact. I think those flowers were his way of apologizing for ending things so abruptly."

"Well, Mashburn is an even bigger ass than I first thought," Jane said, rolling over so he could look at her face. "Anyone who would give you up has to be mighty slow-witted far as I can tell. But then, I'm just a bit partial to wanton schoolmarms, myself."

"Wanton!" she exclaimed indignantly.

He laughed softly. "My dear Miss Lisbon, I believe you were the schoolmarm who enticed me into her bath last night. If that ain't wanton, well I'm U.S. Grant." He captured her lips before she could protest further, and soon, she wasn't finding anything to protest at all.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane was just about to leave for the school when a knock came on the door. It was Grace Bertram, as promised.

"Miss Bertram, so good of you to come. Miss Lisbon just took some laudanum for the pain and is sleeping peacefully. I'm much obliged to your for staying her with her. Sets my mind at ease."

Grace smiled and came inside, looking around the home she hadn't been inside since she was a child and had been friends with Miss Lisbon's younger brothers. It had at one time been a happy place when their parents were living, the four children playing in the yard. But when Mrs. Lisbon had passed, everything had gone terribly wrong, and Grace felt the lonliness here every time she walked by the house. But now, with Mr. Jane in the room, with his sunny smile and impish eyes, it suddenly seemed much brighter in this place. Not only that, she saw the way he looked at Miss Lisbon, and, even more telling, the way she looked and spoke of him. She didn't imagine Miss Lisbon would be lonely for long.

"You are such a dear, watching Miss Lisbon's class for her and staying on here to help her while she's injured. You're a kind man, Mr. Jane."

"What can I say? Miss Lisbon brings out the best in me."

He grinned rather dreamily, Grace thought, her romantic heart near bursting. Jane's eyes strayed to the hall that led to Miss Lisbon's bedroom door, and Grace's eyes widened with wonder. He was in love with her, she realized, and the two of them were as close as that awful Red John had implied. Well, good for Miss Lisbon, was all she could say.

Jane grabbed his hat from the hook by the door and turned back to Grace. "Thank you again, Miss Bertram. Please, make yourself at home. I'll be back soon as I can."

"Good-bye, Mr. Jane."

Grace had brought a book and some needlework to pass the time, but she was a very curious soul, so she decided she'd look around the house a little while Miss Lisbon slept. One could tell so much about a person by exploring their domiciles. Humming her favorite hymn from church, Grace took a turn about her former teacher's house.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

An hour later, Grace set down the tea she'd made herself and went to answer the door. It was hard to say who was more surprised, Grace or Wayne Rigsby. He was dressed in his usual deputy garb-tin star, guns and all-and he stood in the doorway, hat in hand, tall, dark and handsome.

"Grace!"

"Wayne!"

"What are you doing here?" They said at once.

They grinned at each other and Grace stepped aside to invite him in.

"Please, sit," she said, as if she lived there. "Tea?"

"No thanks. Where's uh, Miss Lisbon, or Mr. Jane?" he asked, easing himself gingerly onto the settee. His wounds were much better, but he'd likely be sore awhile.

"Well, Mr. Jane's been teaching school in Miss Lisbon's place, so he asked if I'd sit with Miss Lisbon until she recovers a little more. And since Daddy and I aren't speaking to each other these days, I welcomed the chance to get out of the house."

"That's nice a you, Grace. Why ain't you speakin' to your daddy?" Rigsby asked.

Grace took a deep breath and took the plunge. "I told him I didn't care what he thought, I was marrying you."

You could have knocked Rigsby over with a feather, so surprised was he. "You—you told him that?"

"Yes, while you were unconscious. I wanted to tell you the minute you woke up, and I tried to visit you first at the doctor's office, then at your home, but everyone said it wasn't proper." She reached for his hand, and Rigsby looked down as her touch made him tremble, suddenly speechless.

"You were right about Mr. O'laughlin, Wayne. I should have listened to you and not gone to that rally. If I'd done what you asked, you wouldn't have been hurt."

He swallowed hard, his heart speeding up faster than his brain could think. He was still stuck on the thing about marrying him.

"You want…you want to marry me?"

She blushed prettily, but her smile stretched from ear to ear. "Why, yes, if you still want me."

Her words finally sank in, and a thrill of happiness shot through him. "Still want you? Why, darlin', I've wanted you since I was fourteen years old. O' course, I want you! I can't believe you want _me_!"

She threw her arms around him, and he tried to muffle his grunts of pain. It was worth getting shot to have her in his arms again, saying she'd be his wife at last. He found her lips and tasted their sweetness, gasping in surprise when her little pink tongue slid past his lips and she kissed him so passionately he thought his heart would beat out of his chest. A few crazed minutes passed before Rigsby came to his senses, realizing he was on his way to taking her on his former teacher's settee.

"Wait…Grace…oh, sweet heaven—stop!" He stood up, groaning in discomfort from his injury, not to mention a place a little farther south. They both stared at each other a moment, panting and disoriented.

"Did I do something wrong?" Grace asked fearfully.

"No, darlin'. You done everything just right—which is the problem. Now, we need to start thinkin' logically here, or you'll be ruined long before our weddin' day."

She smiled. "Our wedding day. When, Wayne? When will that be?"

Wayne's face fell, and the reality of his situation rained down upon him like a cold bucket of water. He sat again, this time in the chair opposite the couch. "I'd like it to be today, Grace, you know I would, but the fact a the matter is, I ain't got no money for a house of our own. We'd have to stay with Mama until I saved up. There's a spot on our property, back in the trees near a stream. It'd be a perfect place for a little cabin. But lumber's expensive, Grace, and I could never give you the kind of house you're used to on a deputy's pay."

"Wayne Rigsby, I don't need a big house. I love you. I'm marrying _you_, not a house."

"Oh, Grace, there ain't a woman alive who doesn't want a nice place to be queen of. And startin' out, two queens at Mama's house would be a wakin' nightmare. You'd be trippin' over each other like too many calves in a holdin' pen."

"But I have my dowry," Grace reasoned. "I'm sure it'd be enough to build a little house."

"I don't want nothin' from your daddy," Wayne objected vehemently. "He and your ma have looked down on me since we was kids. I ain't good enough for his daughter, so he'd probably deny your dowry if you married me, just outta spite."

They sat in silence, the excitement of a few minutes before fading into a feeling of utter hopelessness.

"We could wait until you build that house, Wayne. I'd be patient, I promise. We'd keep it a secret until we were ready, then nothing and no one could stand in our way."

"I don't know how long that will, be Grace. All my money goes to the farm. You have any idea how much seed corn is? How much hay, cattle eat? We barely break even after everything goes to market."

"Well, I'll pray about it," Grace said, reaching for his hand. "I've waited for you since we were children, Wayne. I can wait forever if I have to."

He brought her hand to his lips. "I'll pray too, Grace. And I'll see about getting an extra job somewhere. Maybe Kimball could put me to work."

"And I could take in some sewing," Grace said, though she'd have to do it very quietly, for her father would definitely not approve. "We'll make it, Wayne, I know we will. And if it comes down to it, we can live with your mother. I could be a big help to her around the house."

Wayne was certain that would not go over well, and the thought of making love to his wife with his mother in the next room made him shudder with horror. He decided right then to do whatever it took to be with Grace in their own place. He only hoped she really meant it when she said she'd wait forever.

"Well, I best be on my way. I took too many days off work with this injury, and now making money has become even more important," he said with a smile. They both stood, and Grace tiptoed up to kiss him one last time, slowly and sweetly, just enough to get their pulses racing again.

As she walked him to the door she said, "You never told me why you came to see Miss Lisbon."

"Oh, yeah. Well, I was just gonna tell her and Mr. Jane that I explained to the sheriff all about the gun I loaned him, and told him what all we decided to say in Jane's defense. Sheriff understood, though he wasn't too happy with me for keeping some things from him. Also, the circuit judge will be around soon, to make a final ruling about all this, so Jane needs to stay in town 'til he gets here. If you'd pass on this news, I'd be much obliged."

She nodded. "Have the marshals found Red John's last man or the gold?"

"No; they're still lookin'. The banker and the sheriff are fit to be tied. And some more bad news, though it's a might grisly."

"What is it?" she asked hesitantly.

"Them deputies that were supposed to come from Stockton? The marshals found them a few miles outside town. They were all murdered, butchered like hogs. They suspect Red John's gang done it. It was an awful sight, like nothin' that marshal had seen in his twenty years as a lawman."

"How horrible," Grace said, her face contorted in disgust. "I'm glad Mr. Jane killed Red John, and that you and Kimball got most of the rest. And if there's any justice in this world, that last man will be caught very soon."

"From your lips to God's ears, ma'am. Well, good-bye, Grace," he said, reluctant to leave her.

"You know, Wayne," she began shyly, "I'll probably be here tomorrow too, if you'd like to come by for luncheon."

Rigsby smiled. "I'd like that." The door was open now, and he didn't risk a kiss in the open, but he doffed his hat and winked.

"Good-bye, Wayne," she called softly. "I love you."

He nearly fell down the steps at her unexpected words. "I love you too, Grace," he said soulfully, and with one last glance at her brilliant hair and lilac day dress, framed invitingly in the doorway, he put his hat on and headed back to the jailhouse, whistling all the way.

The young couple had no idea that they'd had a witness to their heartfelt conversation. Back in her room, Teresa gently shut her door and tiptoed back to bed.

A/N: Whew! That was a long one, wasn't it? Well, I foresee only one or two chapters left in this little tale. Things tended to wrap up quickly in those old Western movies, and I as much as I enjoy this new world, I don't want to wear out my welcome and have a long, drawn-out story. In the meantime, please tell me what you thought of this chapter. I love reviews nearly as much as brownie fudge sundaes. With nuts.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Thanks to those who got through that really long chapter. If you didn't read ch. 15 a few days ago, please catch up first before reading this one. Enjoy!

**Chapter 16**

At first, when Teresa heard that Grace was staying in her house, playing nursemaid, she was furious with Patrick Jane. She could take care of herself. Hadn't she proven that to him the night before? Well, except for getting trapped in her night rail and needing help out of the bathtub. She grinned and blushed a little at the thought. Maybe she _did_ need a little extra help, but she wished it was from Jane and Jane alone.

But then, after eavesdropping on Grace's conversation with Wayne, she realized that her house was the only place for the young couple to meet in secret. Teresa, being in love herself, wanted everyone else to be as happy as her, so she put up with the lunches on trays and the changing of her bandage and the help into her clean nightgowns. She would hear Wayne and Grace laughing softly in the parlor, and sometimes there would be stretches of quiet when she knew what they must be doing. She would smile and try to read her book while missing Jane to distraction.

In the afternoons, Jane would arrive home, relieve Grace with a few charming words, and come straight to Teresa's room. He wouldn't say a word, but his eyes would take on a certain luminosity that could only mean one thing, and he would remove his clothes and climb into bed with her. She welcomed him with hot, deep kisses, and there would be no words spoken until she cried out his name.

Things went on like this for three days before Teresa insisted on getting out of bed and getting dressed like a civilized person. Grace helped her up and fashioned a makeshift sling for her left arm. When Wayne left after lunch, the two women sat in the parlor, while Teresa reluctantly summoned the words to excuse her helper.

"I really appreciate your staying with me these few days, but I think I can manage by myself from now on. Mr. Jane is here to help me in the evenings, so you needn't worry."

Grace looked at her, torn between gladness for her recovery, and feeling the loss of not seeing Wayne every day. Teresa noticed her crestfallen expression.

"However…I would love for you and Wayne to continue coming for luncheon. It's been so nice having the voices of young people filling the house again."

Grace's face lit up in gratitude. "Oh, thank you, Miss Lisbon! That's very kind of you."

Teresa decided to level with her former student, just like she always had in school. "Look, Grace, I admit I may have overheard some of your conversations with Wayne." Grace flushed and averted her eyes in embarrassment. "Don't be ashamed. I've known since you were in school that you were sweet on each other. I think you belong together, and it's a shame so many things are standing in your way."

"You mean people, Miss Lisbon. If it were just things, nothing would stop us."

Both women sighed. "In recent days, I've come to realize that the opinion of others doesn't mean a hill of beans if you know in your heart what you are doing is right for you. The only one who can judge is God, not the busybody, snobby folk who live in this town."

"I know you're right, Miss Lisbon, but like it or not, the people here have a lot of influence over our families. Wayne is a public servant—what the public thinks of him is very important for his job. And Daddy—well having a sinful, wayward daughter might ruin his chances for re-election. I couldn't do that to him and Mother."

Teresa looked at the beautiful young woman Grace had become, admiring her concern for others who didn't care about her feelings as much as she cared for theirs. "You're so grown up," she commented with a soft smile. "You'll make a fine wife for Wayne. Hang in there—it will all work out, I just know it."

Grace returned the smile, but then hers grew more knowing. "It will work out for you and Mr. Jane too, I can tell."

From her snooping, Grace could tell each morning that Jane was not sleeping in his own bed upstairs at night. It was scandalous that the local school teacher should behave so with a single man living under her roof, and she'd heard the talk, but Jane had become so popular since he shot Red John, that for once, they were turning a mostly blind eye to what was going on in Miss Lisbon's Boarding House.

"I hope so," Teresa replied, her own cheeks going pink.

"I can tell you two are in love," Grace dared. "He looks at you the same way Wayne looks at me. Aren't we so very blessed, Miss Lisbon, to have such fine, handsome men to have set their caps for us?"

"Yes, we _are_ blessed," Teresa agreed, her eyes going a little misty with the memory of how Jane had awakened her this morning. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel his warm hands on her hips.

"When do you reckon he'll propose marriage, Miss Lisbon?"

"What?"

"That's usually what happens next, isn't it? You fall in love, you get married, you have lots and lots of babies?"

And therein lay the unspoken barrier between them. That Jane loved her, Teresa had no doubt. He told her, he _showed_ her, in every way imaginable. But left unsaid were their future plans—well, more precisely, _his_ future plans. She'd had a lot of time to contemplate this as she lay in bed all week.

She knew she wanted nothing more than to cast off her spinster's weeds forever and marry the man of her dreams. But what if the judge decided to put him on trial, and Jane was hanged for murder? Thinking of that made her feel like she'd been shot all over again, this time in the heart. But even more unpredictable an outcome was the possibility that Jane would be completely exonerated, and he'd be free to leave Sacramento. Would he take her with him? Would he stay here and marry her? A married teacher could no longer teach. How would the two of them make a living? They could still take in boarders, she supposed, but this wouldn't be enough for a man like Jane, used to going where he wanted, peddling his wares to new and different people throughout the state. She had no idea what he wanted to do with his life now that he had killed Red John. And she was deeply afraid to ask.

"I don't know what he wants," Teresa admitted sadly, for once allowing her student to see how truly vulnerable she was.

Impulsively, Grace drew Teresa into her arms, mindful of her injury, for once relating to her as a woman, rather than as a teacher. Teresa laid her head on Grace's shoulder, and allowed the younger woman to comfort her, while she shed a few tears of uncertainty.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Jane walked in through the door of Teresa's home that afternoon, he was surprised to see her up and dressed, sitting in the parlor, drinking tea, obviously waiting for him. All he'd been able to think about between questions about the American Revolution was how much he'd hated leaving Teresa's bed that morning. He'd awakened early, as he was wont to do, and she'd been curled around him in sleep, breathing softly through her open pink lips. He'd decided he wanted to wake her up too, and he'd started with remapping her body with his hands and mouth. She'd awakened with a long sigh of pleasure, her dreams made real by the heat of his touch. When he'd left her, she'd been sated and heavy lidded, and if he closed his eyes, he could still taste her sweetness on his tongue.

"Well, hello, my love. Don't you look fetching? May I say though, I'd much rather see you in bed," he said with a wink.

She smiled and rose to meet him, wanting to forever imprint upon her mind the image of him coming home to her. He could tell from her kisses that something was wrong, and he only allowed himself to get lost in her for a moment before gently pulling away.

"What is it, Teresa? What's happened?"

Her smile now was watery but still brave, her voice trembling a little as she spoke. "The circuit judge will be here on the morning train, Wayne said."

He dropped his hands and busied himself with hanging up his hat and coat, his mind whirling at what all of this meant, what it _could_ mean, for both of them. As much as he'd tried not to think about it during his day, in those quiet moments when he was awake and Teresa still slept, he'd chased around the possibilities endlessly in his mind. He loved her, of that he was certain, but he didn't know what to do about it. He'd been too afraid to ask what Teresa wanted him to do. He thought he knew, but was it fair to subject her to the life of a drifter, a peddler, a sideshow act? She had a life here, and while he'd met a few good people, like Rigsby, Cho, and Grace, for the most part he didn't like the mostly judgmental, backward thinking cadre that seemed to run this town.

"Well," he hedged, leading her back to the settee and making himself a cup of tea. "I guess we'll see what's to become of me tomorrow, then."

He poured milk in his teacup from its little pitcher, then added the tea, stirring slowly as if in deep concentration. In fact, his pulse was racing. He didn't really want to get into this conversation now, wanted with all his heart for time to stop and for things to be able to stay like this with her forever. He brought the cup to his lips and met her eyes. She was fidgeting nervously with her napkin.

"If you are free to go, what will you do next?" she asked, so directly he smiled in spite of himself. He set down his cup and took her hand in his, choosing to be as direct as she was.

"I can't stay here, Teresa. I'm sorry, but this is not the place for me."

She nodded and stood up, releasing him, then made a show of gathering up the tea service. With her arm in the sling, she couldn't lift the tray; Grace must have brought it in for her before she left. Her face was an impassive mask, but he knew she was very near tears. He'd hurt her—the last thing he'd wanted to do when he'd seen her face beyond the crowd in the town square. He stilled her movements by grabbing her good arm.

"Teresa, I know you have a life here, have family and friends, a job. Where I'm going, I couldn't offer you any of those things."

"No," she said softly. "I don't suppose you could." She left the tea things where they were and shook off his gentle hold. Then, with back straight and head held high, Teresa walked to her bedroom and shut the door behind her.

Jane looked after her, his first instinct to run and comfort her, tell her everything was going to be all right. But without her in his life, nothing would ever be right for him. And here he'd thought everything would fall into place once he'd avenged his wife and daughter. He laughed humorlessly to himself. Nothing had been simple for him since the day he felt the weight of his newborn baby in his arms. Teresa was yet another complication he hadn't bargained for, had actively told himself to steer far away from.

_I should have known better. I damn well should have known._

He ran his hand through his hair, reliving her pained expression while he mentally kicked himself for causing it. His second instinct was to run away, and since he couldn't leave Sacramento yet, that meant going to Kimball's. But he couldn't go until he tried one more time to talk to her.

"Teresa," he said, knocking softly on her door. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," came her cold reply through the door. "Don't worry about me."

"But I do worry about you. I love—"

"Just go, Jane. I'd like to be alone… please."

"If that's what you want. I'll be at Kimball's should you need me."

"I won't," she said quickly, and he grinned at her stubbornness.

"No matter what happens tomorrow, I love you Teresa." But there was no response, and Jane shook his head sadly. Telling her that might have just been twisting the knife a little. It sure felt that way to him.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane was greeted at Kimball's with the same enthusiasm as before. Word had spread about the impending hearing the next day, and the men in the saloon offered their own rough brand of support in the form of a breathtaking slap on the back or a dozen offers of shots of whiskey. Jane declined the latter in favor of his usual sarsaparilla; he didn't want to be hung over in front of the judge tomorrow.

Cho could tell Jane wasn't in a talkative mood, but he was curious to know how things were with Miss Lisbon. He would abandon his support of this man in favor of her in a heartbeat if he heard he was doing her wrong.

"Everything all right at Miss Lisbon's?" he asked.

Jane looked up from his drink, understanding immediately Cho's motivation for asking. He smiled.

"We've hit a bump in the road. It seems that after I see the judge, I'll be facin' one ring or another—a ring around my neck or around Teresa's finger. I'm not sure which is more terrifyin'."

"That why she kicked you out?"

Jane looked at the barkeep in surprise. He wondered who was really the mind reader here.

"She didn't—well, yeah, she did. I mean, I think it's just for now. But if I can't get in her house this evening, you still got a bed for me in that back room?"

Cho looked at him with narrowed eyes. "That depends."

The two men eyed each other before Jane chuckled. Jane knew damn well if he displeased Teresa, her main champion here wasn't going to tolerate him anymore.

"You're a hard man, Kimball Cho." But he respected that. He was glad to know that if he left tomorrow, there would still be someone here to look after Teresa. Jane raised his glass in salute, and went back to his mental anguish.

It wasn't long before Teresa's second champion came into the saloon, and he didn't order sarsaparilla.

"Whiskey, Cho," said Rigsby, hoisting his lean frame gingerly onto the barstool beside Jane.

"Hey, Rigsby. Good to see you up and around," said Jane.

"Yeah, thanks. Still can't sit a horse though. Why ain't you at home takin' care a Miss Lisbon?"

"She threw him out," said Cho, filling a glass for Rigsby.

Rigsby's narrowed eyes were eerily similar to Cho's moments before. "What did you do now?"

"Easy, fellas! The lady just needs some time to think. I obliged her. There's a lot to think about before tomorrow."

Rigsby nodded, satisfied, and set his glass out for another shot.

"What's eatin' you?" Cho asked Rigsby.

He looked around to be sure no one was paying attention, lowering his voice. "Don't tell nobody, but Grace Bertram agreed to marry me."

"Then why are you in this saloon actin' like your horse just died?" Cho asked.

"I may get a wife, but I got no place to keep her."

"Aww," sympathized Jane. "I bet your mama wouldn't want another chicken in the henhouse either."

"Exactly."

"Sorry," said Cho.

Rigsby shrugged, looking around at his two friends. "Ain't we a sad lot. Women ain't nothin' but trouble. Damned if you have one, damned if you don't."

"I ain't damned," said Cho. His gaze flickered to a beautiful Asian girl who'd only recently joined Miss Madeleine's business. She barely spoke English, and the nearest they could come to pronouncing her name was Elise. She was directed by Madeleine to sit on a cowboy's lap, her red silk kimono parting to show a matching red garter, high on her thigh. She looked frightened and uncomfortable.

"Aww," reiterated Jane. "She looks a little young to be in with Madeleine's girls."

"She is," said Cho, his mouth a firm line. "I intend to do somethin' about it."

Rigsby cracked a smile for the first time since sitting at the bar. "If it's not hen house problems, it's cat house problems."

Cho didn't find anything amusing about it. Suddenly, he threw down the towel he'd been wiping with and marched over to Madeleine Hightower.

"This oughta be good," said Rigsby, his own troubles momentarily forgotten. Cho practically dragged Miss Madeleine up the stairs to her "offices," the madam cussing and protesting all the way. The piano player stopped playing and the patrons of the saloon strained to here the commotion above. While Madeleine raved about Cho staying out of her business, they could only hear the faint sound of Cho's angry rumblings. In the end, Cho walked purposefully down the stairs to Elise, grabbed her tiny hand, and led her to Jane's old room in the back of the bar.

"Well, I hope Teresa takes me back, or I might be bunkin' with Becky at the stables."

A few minutes later, Cho emerged, looking very satisfied with himself.

"How much did that cost you?" asked Rigsby.

"No percentage of Madeleine's take for a month."

The two men nodded. They all silently agreed it was worth it.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

As it happened, Jane could indeed return to Teresa's that evening. He'd expected the cold shoulder (injured or not), but he was instead met with a warm embrace and tear-stained cheeks. While he had been gone, she realized that, come what may, this night might be their last night together. If she was going to live out the rest of her life a spinster, she wanted only happy memories to warm the cold years ahead.

"I'm sorry," she said against his lips. "I'm pitiful, I know, but I'll take from you whatever you can give me…for however long…I love you…I love you…" Her impassioned words were broken up by kisses on his cheeks, his neck, his lips, as she pulled him by the vest into her darkened bedroom.

Sometime later, Jane lay atop her, still joined with her lithe body, panting against her neck. "I love you, Teresa," he whispered. He kissed his way up to her lips, covering them with an open-mouthed kiss. He moved back to her ear, and then the words slipped out that he'd only said one other time in his entire life: "Marry me."

He couldn't imagine not being with her like this every day, couldn't imagine leaving her behind and going on with a life empty without her. He didn't know what tomorrow would bring. Maybe he'd be thrown in jail to await a trial. Maybe he'd be free to travel the world with her at his side. Whatever the outcome, he wanted the comfort of knowing that she was well and truly his, forever.

"Teresa?" he prodded, after her silence had extended longer than shock would explain. "Will you marry me?"

She pulled back, the light of the moon shining in through the sheer curtains and lighting the tears in her eyes.

"No, Patrick," she said, her voice quivering with emotion. "I can't."

A/N: Please put your rotten tomatoes away—I won't leave you on this cliff for long, I promise! One more chapter to go, my friends…


	17. Conclusion and Epilogue

A/N: Here we are at the end of this Western tale. I had so much fun writing this, but I know I wouldn't have enjoyed it so much had you not read and given me such encouragement. Thanks to all who reviewed, for taking a chance on this AU. I hope you enjoyed it.

**Chapter 17: Conclusion**

Jane grinned at her, not believing her refusal for a second. "Yes, you _can_ marry me," he whispered. He took her lips again, intending to kiss her into submission. She allowed it for a few moments, unable to resist the gentle slide of his tongue against hers, the sensual fullness of his lips. She felt him growing hard again inside her and she moaned into his mouth. But Teresa Lisbon was, above all, a practical woman. She also knew herself to be a good judge of character. He'd told her he wasn't staying in Sacramento, couldn't make a life here. And he hadn't invited her to go with him. So, if he stayed and married her, wouldn't he be unhappy here, eventually resent her? Jane had already been in a prison of sorts for the past two years, chasing a madman who didn't even know his name. She would not condemn him to a prison here with her, even if the bars were gilded with love.

"No," she finally managed. "I won't let you do this."

"Do what, sweetheart? Marry you or make love to you? Because right now," he gasped, moving slowly in and out of her body, "I fully intend to do both."

When he was driving her to distraction by his passion, she couldn't resist, rising to meet his hips with each smooth stroke. Of course, it didn't help her resistance to his proposal when he kept repeating, "Marry me" over and over again in her ear and against her mouth in time with his movements.

Afterward, when they both lay spent and exhausted, Teresa cuddling to his side, Jane insisted she formally accept his offer.

"You haven't answered my question," he said softly, his fingers playing with her hair.

"Your demand, you mean, and I did," she countered. "You just didn't listen, and tried to manhandle me for the answer you wanted."

He chuckled. "Manhandle? That implies you didn't want it, that I forced myself on you. Seems to me, when you were wrappin' those sweet legs around my waist, I was bein' _woman_-handled. I feel so violated."

She smiled—she couldn't help it. His wit was one of the things she loved most about him. She would miss that. Her smile faded quickly, and she brought him back to the question at hand. "You said you weren't staying here, that this wasn't the place for you. I believe you meant that, and that you'd come to resent staying here eventually."

"I'm _not _stayin' here, Teresa. And neither are you."

"What?" she asked, moving so she could look at his face in the moonlight.

He reached out to cup her cheek. "Come away with me," he said. "Let me take you away from this town of fools and judges. Let me show you _my_ world."

"Where exactly is that, Jane? Where would we go?"

He looked at her curiously a moment. "Tell me, have you ever been away from Sacramento?"

"Yes," she said, a little defensively. "I've seen San Francisco."

He grinned. "Well, San Fran is nice, but that ain't nothin' compared to the mountains and the beaches and the forests of this state, and beyond. We don't even have to stay in California anymore," he said, suddenly realizing this important new fact of life. "I don't have to follow anyone if I don't want to. But I have a plan, Teresa. Hear me out, will ya?"

"Yes," she said, getting caught up in his excitement, a little hope creeping into her heart.

"Angela's family, why they're circus royalty. They've travelled all over this state putting on shows, hauling the animals and tents in wagons. It was always slow going. But last I heard, that's changed for them. They're travelling now by train. Circus trains, they're called. It's the future of entertainment, Teresa. They'll be in San Francisco for the next week. We could meet them, and I could get my old job back."

She looked at him in awe. "Is that what you want to do? Work with your wife's family again? Won't that be…difficult?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe, at first. But they didn't blame me for Angela and Charlotte's deaths. Her ma begged me not to go after Red John, said I'd just get myself killed, and for what? She didn't approve of seeking revenge." He was quiet a moment, lost again in those dark days right after his family's deaths. He'd been crazed with rage and grief, wanting to go after Red John while the trail was still hot, but needing to be with his wife's family for the burial. By then, he and Angela had quit the circus, and were heading to the house he'd built for her. His father had gotten in some trouble with the law—stiffed the wrong man in a card game—and Jane had had to wait to bail him out. That's why he hadn't been on that train with his family. It had taken a long time for him to forgive his father for that.

"Anyway," he continued, resolutely pushing those memories to the back of his mind. "we'd be travelin' in style, maybe have our own train car. You'd see the country, Teresa."

"But what would I do?" she asked. She was used to working, wanted to be useful.

"I've given that some thought too. There are children in the circus who need schoolin'. We teach 'em the basics, like readin' and writin', but only enough for them to get by in the world. Now with Charlotte, we taught her history and sums too, and Angela was real good 'bout teachin' manners and such. And I'd bought her a little spinet Angela was teachin' her to play." Jane was surprised that, rather than the instant pain he always felt when talking about them, he was capable of telling of the good things, with only a twinge of sadness. He must be healing, he thought in wonder. "But those other kids need that too. You could teach 'em, Teresa. Their parents would pay you well."

She thought of this a moment, the romance of travelling by train, the excitement of putting on a show. She'd seen a circus once, as a child. She'd never forgotten the beauty of the acrobats, the danger of the tigers and awesome size of the elephants.

"But what if," she began hesitantly, fearful he might laugh. "What if I wanted to perform in the circus, or the sideshow, like you?"

Jane tried to restrain his skeptical smile. "Like what? You have some hidden talents I don't know about?" He made the question suggestive, and Teresa swatted his chest as she blushed.

"I'm a good shot," she ventured. "My daddy and brothers taught me to shoot. I could learn to be a trick shooter, like this lady I saw once. She shot an apple off a man's head."

Jane did laugh, but with pride now. He'd seen her shoot Red John in the knee; no mean feat with a Deringer at several yards. "Is that somethin' you'd want to do? So long as you don't practice on me, I mean."

"Yes," she said. "And I could teach too, while we travelled."

"So," he began, turning over on his stomach to look directly at her face in the dim light. "Does this mean you'll marry me, and run off with me to join the circus?" His mouth quivered, as he forced himself not to break into a wide grin of triumph.

"Yes," she said happily. "Yes!" They both laughed and embraced, Jane barely restraining himself from hurting her shoulder in his exhuberance. He kissed her smiling lips, the true meaning of her acceptance nearly overwhelming him. She would be his now, and they would move on with their lives together.

He knew things might be a little strained at first with his old circus family, but they would love Teresa, would love that he was happy. And he'd return a man at peace, bringing the news that their daughter and granddaughter had finally found justice. For once in over two years, Jane was feeling like anything was possible.

"I love you," was all that he could manage, holding her body close.

"I love you too," she whispered, rubbing her wet cheek against his.

Neither of them mentioned the huge obstacle to their happiness they still faced with the circuit judge the next day. At that moment, nothing mattered but this new life they had chosen to embark on together, and they stayed up most of the night, making plans and making love.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The morning was much more somber than the night's revels, and while Teresa and Jane dressed and broke their fast, they gave one another heartfelt glances and gentle hand squeezes. They couldn't hide in their bedroom oasis anymore. It was nearly time to leave, Jane went to his carpet bag. He felt around for the catch and opened the false bottom. There, wrapped in his wife's flowered handkerchief, he kept his most valuable keepsakes: a lock of his daughter's blonde hair, a daguerreotype of his wedding day, his mother's emerald engagement ring. It was the latter that he brought out and held in his palm. Angela had wanted a sapphire, so he'd kept his mother's ring for Charlotte someday, but since that wasn't to be, he knew now why he had held onto it—the green stone perfectly matched Teresa's eyes when they were dark and aroused with passion.

"Jane," she called, startling him from his reverie. "Don't you think we should head to the courthouse?"

Of course she'd insisted on going, had pointed out she'd been a witness and might be able to help. He didn't even argue with her, as much as he'd wanted to spare her from reliving the whole experience. He grinned a little. He supposed he was learning.

He looked at the ring, pocketing it to present it to her after the judge's ruling. If the news was bad, well, he guessed he'd give it to her in remembrance of their time together. As he joined Teresa in the parlor, the ring weighed heavily in his pocket, and he was tempted to curse fate and put it on her finger. But if the last two years had taught Jane anything, it was patience, and waiting for the perfect time to make a move. He kissed her before they left the house, telling her with his touch that he would love her no matter what the morning might bring.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Judge Franklin Hildred, not so affectionately known as Judge Dread behind his back, sat in the Sacramento courthouse on his usual circuit throughout northern California. He was a no-nonsense man, quick to fine those who violated the sanctity of the court, harsh on convicted criminals, tough on law enforcement to get things right so he could cheerfully hang or imprison where he saw fit.

He looked about the full courtroom, realizing that whatever had happened here, it had stirred up public opinion to a great degree, a situation Hildred was not looking forward to. But this was only a hearing, the local sheriff having not formally arrested anyone for the killing of the outlaw, John Whitford, aka, Red John, while the District Attorney, Mark Odenthall, insisted that a travelling peddler, Patrick Jane, be arrested and put on trial for murder. Hildred had read the reports and witness accounts from the sheriff's office, and the situation seemed pretty clear to him. He had the feeling this entire hearing was a result of the district attorney's political posturing.

He tapped his gavel to settle the courtroom, and turned to Mark Odenthall.

"Mr. Odenthall, please submit reasons why Mr. Patrick Jane should be arrested and put on trial for the murder of John Whitford."

"Your honor, it is the state's contention that Mr. Jane came to the rally to welcome the Wells Fargo gold delivery five days ago, in possession of a pistol belonging to Deputy Wayne Rigsby. After Red John's gang murdered the two Wells Fargo men and wounded two others, including Deputy Rigsby, Patrick Jane shot Red John three times in the stomach, and once in the face. He was dead at the scene. We believe that, because of Patrick Jane's personal history with Red John, that he came to the rally with knowledge of Red John's arrival beforehand, with the sole intention of murdering the man who two years ago killed his wife and child. We ask that you order Sheriff LaRoche to arrest Patrick Jane on the charge of premeditated murder."

There was a murmur of protest among the crowd, and the man Hildred assumed was the infamous Patrick Jane, sat tensely, his mouth in a firm line. Next to him sat a petite brunette with one arm in a sling.

"Sheriff LaRoche," Hildred called. "Please take the stand."

LaRoche, in his best black coat, rose and walked to the chair to the left of the judge. The judge regarded the sheriff expectantly, having dealt with the man in the past and knowing that he was pragmatic and honest, if a bit cold.

"Sheriff, tell us what you know of the events surrounding the robbery, and tell the court why you have not arrested Mr. Jane."

The sheriff hadn't been there the whole time, but he succinctly detailed what he had witnessed, also noting the events leading to the robbery, including Jane's initial visit to the jailhouse and his grudge against Red John.

"He said he aimed to kill him, Judge, been tracking him for two years," LaRoche concluded. "Two days later, we found a copy of a telegram about Red John in his room at Miss Lisbon's boarding house."

"So let me get this straight," intervened Odenthall. "Mr. Jane knew Red John would be in town and came ready to kill him. After he did just that, why didn't you arrest him?"

LaRoche's eyes shot to the mayor's and then to the crowd of townsfolk in the audience. "That outlaw and his band killed five deputies from Stockton, as well as those Wells Fargo boys. Seems to me like justice was served. I don't like Mr. Jane much, but I stand by my decision not to arrest him."

The courtroom erupted in cheers, and Hildred banged his gavel. "I'll have none of that in my courtroom," warned the judge. "Very well, Sheriff. You're excused. Now, let's hear from Deputy Rigsby."

Rigsby arose from his place beside Cho, nervous as hell because he'd be lying to a judge about some very important details. "Deputy Rigsby, tell the court how Mr. Jane got your gun?"

"I gave it to him, your honor, for protection. He'd been attacked and he was unarmed." He looked out into the crowd and caught the brown eyes of Grace Bertram, sitting beside her father, the mayor. She gave him a small smile of encouragement.

"Attacked by whom, Deputy?" asked Odenthall pointedly.

Rigsby shrugged. "Hard to say."

"And you in no way helped Mr. Jane in his quest for revenge?"

"No, sir. But I'm not complain' that Red John is dead. If Jane hadn't done it, I would have." The people gave their heartfelt approval. Judge Dread glanced sternly around the room.

"Anymore outbursts like that, and I'll clear this courtroom and charge each and every one of you with contempt, you understand?" The crowd hushed immediately.

"Any more questions of this witness, Mr. Odenthall?"

Thwarted again, Odenthall shook his head. He knew in his gut that Rigsby was lying, but he had no way of proving it. "No more questions, Your Honor."

"You may step down, Deputy. Mr. Jane, come forward."

Teresa surreptitiously squeezed his arm and he looked at her warmly. Jane took a deep breath and made his way to the witness chair.

"Now, Mr. Jane," said the judge. "Do you you admit here today that you shot and killed John Whitford?"

"Yes, sir," Jane replied impassively. From the gallery, Teresa nodded in support. He grinned in spite of himself, his hand going to his coat pocket to clasp the ring hidden there. Odenthall eyed him in disapproval.

"Mr. Jane, you smile after you admit to cold blooded murder. Why is that? You find this situation amusing." Jane sobered at once.

"Not at all, Mr. Odenthall. But I do not regret what I did. It wasn't so cold-blooded either. I'd been chasing this man for two years for what he'd done to my family. I did what the law had failed to do, and I did it all on my own with no help from anyone." Lies always came easily to Patrick Jane's lips.

"Except for Deputy Rigsby, who loaned you his gun," the DA added.

"He didn't loan it to me for the purpose of killing Red John."

"I see. Do you admit to having foreknowledge that Red John would be in Sacramento?"

"Yes. I had direct word from an acquaintance of his in San Francisco, then I had the wired message from the US Marshall service. I heard about the Wells Fargo gold comin' to town, so it wasn't hard to guess that would be the gang's target."

"How did you get hold of that telegram? According to Sheriff LaRoche, that wasn't a message meant for public eyes."

"I stole it," he lied. In the gallery, Rigsby tried not to react.

"You admit to stealing from a sheriff?"

"Yes, sir."

Odenthall was looking blatantly triumphant. The peddler wasn't denying anything, was in fact making a full confession for all the world to hear. He decided to move in for the final nail in his coffin.

"Mr. Jane, you say you killed Red John because he murdered your wife and daughter. Word is, you caused a saloon fight not long after you got into town because you were defending a woman's honor. Would you consider yourself to be a vengeful person?"

"Yes, sir, I would."

"So that would explain why you shot Red John four times, when you could have incapacitated him with one and taken away his weapon."

"True, but I wanted him dead, not just incapacitated."

There were a few titters of soft laughter, and Hildred's head shot up. The laughter ceased.

"You have no apologies for planning and carrying out your vengeance upon Red John?"

"Nope. I will say one thing, though, Mr. Odenthall. I didn't shoot him until after I witnessed him killing two people and wounding the woman I'm in love with." There were a few gasps of surprise, and all eyes focused on Teresa, who blushed proudly at his public announcement. Jane winked at her.

Odenthall ignored the people's reactions and turned now to the judge. "Your Honor, in light of Mr. Jane's clear confessions here today, I move that he be charged with murder and remanded to the custody of Sheriff LaRoche."

Before Hildred could respond, a voice from the crowd carried to his ears, and he looked up to see Mr. Jane's companion rising to her feet. "Your Honor, may I say something to the court before you make a decision?"

"And you are, Miss?"

"I'm Miss Teresa Lisbon, town school teacher. I was present at the robbery, and sustained injury to my shoulder at the hand of Red John."

"I'll allow it, Miss Lisbon, if you'll be brief."

"Teresa—" Jane began, having a sick feeling in his stomach at what he knew she planned to do. She made herself avoid his eyes; otherwise, she might just break down and beg for Jane's life. She drew in a shaky breath and continued.

"Sir, if you charge Mr. Jane for the crime of shooting Red John, why, you must charge me as well."

"And why is that, Miss?"

"Because I too shot him with a gun I brought with my own foreknowledge of Red John's arrival." The citizens' reaction was not surprising. It had been common knowledge that Teresa had done this, but no one expected that the woman would stand up in court and publicly admit such a thing.

Hildred's gavel came down with a bang. "Bailiff, clear the court." The gallery erupted in protest, but they were ushered out by the bailiff along with the help of Rigsby and LaRoche. Teresa remained standing patiently until the courtroom was quiet again, and Hildred brought his attention back to her.

"Miss Lisbon, you realize this confession of yours could mean your arrest and punishment?"

"Yes sir."

"Mr. Jane, you may step down. I'll return in one hour's time with my decision." The remaining spectators stood as he did, then took their seats again in relief.

"It doesn't look good," murmured Rigsby to Jane sadly.

Without the crowd there to notice, Teresa took Jane's cold hand in hers. "No," he replied softly. "But then, I didn't expect anything else. I did what I did and I'm not afraid to admit it. I'm willing to accept the consequences of my actions." He turned to Teresa, bringing their clasped hands to his mouth.

"You were very brave, my love," he said, his eyes shining with pride. "I'm angry with you for it though. What good will it do to land yourself in jail?"

"At least we'd be together," she said, trying for a grin that didn't make it to her eyes.

He shook his head in disbelief. "I love you," he whispered.

"And I you."

Xxxxxxxxxxx

The hour passed by slowly, and no one left in the courtroom said much as the minutes ticked by. Rigsby disappeared for a while, presumably to speak with Grace, and he returned, even more somber than when he'd left. The townspeople were allowed to enter the courtroom again, but were warned by the bailiff to control their reactions on pain of imprisonment.

At last the judge entered, and everyone rose respectfully.

"I have made my decision. Mr. Jane, I hereby order Sheriff LaRoche to collect from you a fine of fifty dollars for your admitted theft of a classified telegram from the jailhouse. If you cannot pay this fine, you may spend thirty days in jail. As for the charge of murder…while I feel Mr. Jane was a bit _overzealous_ in his shooting of John Whitford, I find that he did no less than any brave citizen might have done when confronting a man in the act of committing murder and theft.

He looked directly at Teresa. "Miss Lisbon, I find your acts at the robbery to be no less than heroic—a young woman using a small caliber weapon, confronting an armed murderer was very brave indeed, though very reckless. Standing before the court in defense of Mr. Jane and risking incarceration is also very impressive. Your students and their parents should be very proud to have such a spirited lady in their school house. I find no laws were broken by you, and I order that no charges be filed against you. Court is adjourned." Before he could lower his gavel in finality, Patrick Jane made a quick decision.

"Your Honor," Jane called as the judge rose.

"Yes, Mr. Jane."

"Do you perform wedding ceremonies?" He heard Teresa's small inhalation beside him, and he reached for her hand.

The crowd looked on in surprise as Judge Hildred focused on the earnest peddler and his blushing fiancé. While he certainly had the power to perform such ceremonies, he hadn't done so in years. He found himself smiling slightly in amusement at the audacity of this man to ask a circuit judge in open court to perform a service normally relegated to a justice of the peace or a minister. "Why, yes, Mr. Jane, I have been known to do so."

"Well, I would be honored, _Your Honor_, if you would consent to marry Miss Lisbon and me. Today." He gave his sunniest, most appealing grin. The onlookers seemed to be holding their collective breaths.

"Very well, Mr. Jane. Meet me in my chambers in twenty minutes. I have a train to catch in an hour."

With a final pounding of his gavel, Judge Hildred left the courtroom amid the immediate swell of whispering gossip.

"Jane—" Teresa began, but her words were drowned out by the calls of congratulations and the sudden intervention of Walter Mashburn.

"Mr. Jane, Miss Lisbon. May I offer my sincere felicitations, both on your impending nuptials and Judge Hildred's ruling. I'd very much like a follow-up to last week's story, when you have the time, of course. This will make a wonderful ending. Like a fairy tale. And as a wedding gift, I'd love to take your wedding picture, and I'd publish it in the paper too, of course."

Jane gritted his teeth, but he was too happy to punch Mashburn in the nose. "Mashburn, this is really not the time—"

"I'm sure you're very busy, but after the ceremony…?"  
>"Of course, Walter," Teresa replied. At Jane's look of annoyance, Teresa shook her head. He realized she was diplomatically putting the newspaper man off. "We'll see you later, Walter."<p>

"Thank you, Teresa. Mighty kind of you. We'll uh, be waiting," he said indicating his photographer.

Grace, Rigsby and Cho were the next to surround them with congratulations, and Jane pulled Rigsby aside. "Look, Wayne, I know this is very short notice, but I'm getting married in about fifteen minutes. You're about the only friend I have here. Would you stand up for us?"

"Well, of course, Jane. It'd be an honor." They shook hands.

Teresa had secured the same gushing promise from Grace and a more somber acceptance from Cho, and they agreed to meet in the judge's chambers in five minutes. "Oh, dear!" Grace exclaimed. "I need to run an errand. I'll be right back!"

"I'll come with you," Rigsby offered.

"Don't be late," Teresa called. The happy couple struggled through the crowd to the side hallway that led to a door marked _Judge's Chambers. _It was quiet as they waited, and Teresa paused to look up at Jane, her heart pounding as the swiftness of events began to sink in.

"I can't believe you just did that," she said breathlessly.

Jane's grin took over his entire face. "I told you there would be nothing but fun and surprises for you from now on."

She brought her hand up to either side of his creased cheeks, looking deeply and solemnly into his laughing blue eyes. "You're free, Patrick," she whispered.

He covered her hands with his own. "Yes, I am. In so many ways." He bent his head and kissed her tenderly, hardly daring to believe that just a week ago he had been a lonely, haunted man on a quest for vengeance. It was like he'd been reborn, and he owed this new life to the feisty school teacher who'd had the guts to set down a two-bit peddler in the town square.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Teresa held the small bouquet of pink roses that Grace had found in record time, as she and Jane stood before Judge Hildred. She repeated the simple vows that she had heard so many times before that she knew them by heart. In the past, they had been said by young women who were never to be designated spinsters. Today, Teresa couldn't believe she was saying those sacred words herself.

When the judge got to the part about the ring, Teresa mentally prepared herself to smile and make an excuse about how they hadn't had time to purchase one. But once again, Patrick Jane amazed her. From his pocket he brought out a band of gold, topped by an emerald in an ornate setting.

"It was my mother's," he whispered, and he slipped it on her finger with a smile at her surprise. And just like that, they were married, and Teresa Jane was a spinster no more. She received kisses on the cheek by Rigsby and Cho, a warm hug from Grace, and a lingering kiss on the lips by her handsome new husband.

"Thank you Judge," said Jane, shaking the man's hand.

"The court clerk will write up the marriage certificate for you to sign. And don't forget to make arrangements for paying your fine, Mr. Jane."

Jane tried not to grin. "Of course, Your Honor." Though where he was going to come up with fifty dollars escaped him at the moment.

"Thank you, Your Honor," echoed Teresa, still blushing from Jane's unashamed display of his affections.

"I'm sure you'll be very happy."

Jane turned to his bride. _His bride. _She _was_ his gift after all, and things would be different this time. He wouldn't take a day of their life together for granted. And should there be babies… his grin widened just thinking about it.

"Hey," he said to his witnesses. "Anyone want to buy a wagon and a horse named Becky?"

Outside the courthouse, the crowd had dispersed, and while there would be some talk for days of the unlikely joining of the spinster and the heroic peddler, life would generally go on as it had before. They managed to avoid Mashburn while Rigsby distracted him, sneaking back to Teresa's home with the promise from Rigsby, Grace and Cho to stop by later for tea.

"_Much_ later," she'd heard Jane clarify as Rigsby chuckled in understanding.

"Are you sorry this wasn't a Catholic ceremony, in a church and all?" asked Jane as they walked home, holding hands, which, even though they were married, was generally not proper public behavior. Teresa found that she also was feeling a new kind of freedom, and blatantly swung their clasped hands for all to see.

"A little, maybe." She glanced down at the ever-present crucifix suspended from her neck. "But the vows were the same, and I would have meant them no matter where I'd said them."

Jane smiled, liking her answer. "I knew that it would take days to arrange a church wedding, and I wanted you to be my wife as quickly as humanly possible. I hope you don't mind."

She laughed. "_Now_ you ask me! Don't think that this is the way our marriage is going to be, Patrick Jane. You won't be making all the decisions without discussing them with me first."

Jane raised an eyebrow. "I noticed how you deftly substituted the word _cherish _for the more commonly accepted _obey."_

"I hope you don't mind," she said wryly.

He stopped in the middle of the boardwalk and kissed her rosy cheek. "Not at all, Teresa Jane. I wouldn't dare take my life in my hands by forcin' you to obey."

Her heart did a crazy leap as she heard her new name for the first time. When she looked up into her husband's face, his eyes grew softer as he regarded her knowingly. He squeezed her hand and they continued their stroll home.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

_Much_ later, Jane helped Teresa re-dress and they began preparing a small celebratory tea for their visitors. As Jane opened a cupboard to find extra cups, he noticed a familiar bottle, shoved way in the back. He brought it out before Teresa's embarrassed gaze.

"What, my dear wife, are you doing with a bottle of the Elixir of Love?"

She blushed to her hairline. "I—I snuck it out of your bag the first day you arrived. You had said I could have a free bottle," she reminded in a pitiful attempt to justify her actions.

"Oh?" he said, his mouth serious and disapproving, while his eyes twinkled merrily. "And why, may I ask would you need such a thing you once found so highly offensive to your person?" But she could tell by his expression he knew exactly how she had used what she'd adamantly maintained was "snake oil." She knew he wasn't going to let her avoid admitting it. Her confession tumbled out in a rush.

"I—well, every time I served you tea, I put a few drops in the pot. Not much, just enough to well, to see if it might work. I mean, what did I have to lose, right?"

She averted her eyes, mortified to have her greatest secret revealed to him at last. He lifted her stubborn little chin to look into her eyes. "My dear Teresa, I do believe, considering the terms of our original agreement, that you owe me twenty-five cents. Or, in lieu of a quarter, I will accept your humble admission that you are now a believer in the potency of my wares."

She pretended to think a moment. "I'll just get you that quarter." She laughed when he pulled her to him roughly, kissing her smart mouth until her chuckles became moans.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Really, Wayne, I want you and Grace to have it." Teresa said to their young visitors. "Jane and I will be leaving soon, and someone needs to take care of my mother's house for me."

"But what about your brothers," Grace asked, her heart racing at this unexpected turn of events. "This was their house too."

"They have their own houses, their own lives. I'll just leave them notes, and when they get back with their wives from their lumber expedition to the Redwood Forest, they'll know what my wishes are. And if you need extra money, you can continue the boarding house, but I'll leave that up to you, of course. You might want to fill those rooms with babies, instead," she teased the blushing pair.

They looked at each other with barely restrained excitement. "Wayne, we could get married much sooner than we had planned, couldn't we?"

"Yes, Grace, I suppose we could,"Rigsby said, hardly believing his luck. "Thank you. Thank you both."

Rigsby and Grace had received the news of their impending departure with initial sadness, then wide-eyed disbelief that they would be doing the romantic and adventurous thing of joining a real-life circus. It was like something out of a novel.

"I'll miss you, Miss Lisbon," Grace said, teary eyed as Teresa and Jane escorted their guests to the door.

"That's _Mrs. Jane_," Mr. Jane corrected with a grin.

Grace smiled through her tears. "It has a nice ring to it."

"Yes it does…_Mrs. Rigbsy_," Teresa tossed back.

There were handshakes and _thank-you's_, and embraces all around, and the newly wedded couple waved to their friends from the porch. Jane hugged his wife from behind as they watched the sun set over the distant river.

"Will you come with me tomorrow? I have to resign from my teaching position, and I should really say goodbye to my students."

"_Our_ students," Jane said, and she felt his grin against her hair. "I'll miss those little rapscallions," he mused fondly.

Teresa laughed. "I thought you had no trouble with my little angels."

"I didn't, but they're rapscallions all the same."

"Sort of like a certain peddler I know."

He turned her in his arms and admired how her green eyes glittered in the sun. "You wouldn't have me any other way."

"True," she said, tiptoeing up to kiss his smiling lips. "Very true."

**Epilogue**

For perhaps the hundredth time, Jared Renfrew opened the Wells Fargo strong box and caressed the gold bars tightly packed inside like bright yellow sardines. He'd been hiding out in this cellar for a week, and he felt like he was about to go plum crazy, but he had little choice in the matter. The US Marshals were still scouring the area, no doubt finding all of Red John's old hideouts, and with the news of the robbery still dominating the papers, not to mention his Wanted poster circulating the area, it would be dangerous to venture out alone. But The Boss had continued to reassure him that once things settled down, together they would take their gold and hop a train down to Los Angeles. The Boss had big plans for that money, and with his own share, Renfrew could build himself a big house near the ocean and live like a king. All he had to do was visualize it in his mind, and it would soon come to pass.

At the sound of the cellar door opening at the top of the stairs, Renfrew shut the box and hid in the shadows. Footsteps echoed in the dark room, and Renfrew looked up in relief as The Boss's distinguished face and white hair was revealed by the lamp he carried.

"Jared," came the proper voice of the foreigner. "Brother, it's time."

Renfrew came out into the lamplight. "At last! I can't hardly believe it. Did that peddler man go to trial for Red's murder?"

"I'm afraid not. Sometimes the justice system of your fair country fails miserably. Brother John died for our cause, but he'll find his reward, I assure you. And Mr. Jane will get what's coming to him, don't you worry about that."

Renfrew laughed in excitement. "So, when do we leave?"

Bret Stiles, butler and con man extraordinaire, moved in closer to his minion. He looked with clear blue eyes into Renfrew's worshiping gaze.

"I'm afraid, Brother Jared, that you have fully served your purpose. I had hoped that with Mr. Jane's head in a noose, you'd be able to help me make a go of things in Los Angeles, but with Mr. Jane and his lovely new wife on a train to San Francisco today, my plans have changed. Unfortunately, your face has become rather a…liability." It was amazing the information you could garner while living in the mayor's house, thought Stiles. Miss Grace was always willing to share the latest town gossip.

Stiles's voice became almost soothing as he gave Renfrew the bad news. "You pledged to give your life for the cause, and now it's time to live up to that pledge. I'm sure you understand."

"What—what do you mean?" asked Renfrew, the import of Stiles's words not quite sinking in.

From his trouser pocket, Stiles surreptitiously extracted a sharply honed knife. Casually, he brought his hand up as if to rest it on the man's shoulder. Instead, he quickly and expertly moved the knife across Renfrew's throat, blood spurting as it severed the jugular. Renfrew gasped and grabbed for his neck, while Stiles gently lowered him to the ground, cautious to stay well away from the draining blood. As he watched the man die, he considered carving him up as he was wont to do, but he was in a bit of a rush. He had a train to catch.

"Too bad," he said aloud. He wiped the knife upon Renfrew's shirt, and pocketed it again. "I'll see you in the afterlife, Brother."

Stiles went to the box of gold, grunting under its weight as he hefted it up to his shoulder. This would be more than enough to get him by for awhile without a gang to fill his coffers. His thoughts turned again to Patrick Jane. The vengeful peddler had struck a mighty blow against his plans, when he stumbled onto the gang's hideout in the back of O'laughlin's law office_. O'laughlin._ Stiles sighed and shook his head at life's capriciousness. It had taken a lot of time and effort to firmly ensconce the bogus lawyer into this town's society, especially right next to the biggest bank in Sacramento. Aw, well, there would be other towns, other banks, other followers to do his bidding.

He'd regretfully offered his resignation to the mayor, stating he'd received an urgent letter from his sister in England, that he must return to his homeland indefinitely. His door was always open, the mayor had told him, and his job would be waiting here should he ever return. Too bad that, once they found Renfrew's body, the offer would likely be rescinded. Stiles had thanked the man heartily, and had stoically accepted Miss Grace's affectionate kiss on the cheek. While Stiles wouldn't miss the blowhard mayor, he would certainly miss that lovely red hair of his daughter's.

He loaded the strong box into his waiting trunk at the top of the stairs, and Bertram's own footmen would carry it to the stylish coach parked outside the mansion. Stiles grinned to himself, visualizing how it would be some day, living in a grand house such as this, with all the power of wealth at his disposal, servants at his beck and call, free to have a taste of blood whenever he wanted it. He focused on the picture he'd created in his mind, fully believing that if he could but see it, that one of these fine days, he would become it.

**The End**

A/N: Well, that's that! I hope I managed to tie up all the loose ends for you (I hate those!). I enjoyed writing for you, and there's plenty more where this came from. My next "Mentalist" effort will be the promised continuation of my tag for "Jolly Red Elf." When I have that fully worked out in my mind, I'll be back, I promise. I can't seem to stay away…

P.S. If you enjoy extreme AU's, I encourage you to check out my friend, Duppy Conqueror and her terrific fic, "El Scorcho". You won't be disappointed.


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